Origin - The Hounds of House Clegane
by Kicollette
Summary: The rise and fall of House Clegane. The Lannisters' most loyal knightly House was not so loyal and not so knightly. Sandor and Gregor never knew the true family history. Had he known, maybe the Hound would have understood where his truth and his brother's violence came from. (this is a longer version of my short story Violence, Grace, and Truth)
1. Reynes of Castamere

Origin - the Hounds of House Clegane

**Disclaimer: **_**A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones, all characters, places, and related terms are the sole property of the author George R R Martin.**_

The Reynes of Castamere were older than the Tarbecks and nearly as rich as the Lannisters. They were the finest family in the Westerlands, most said, especially the Reynes themselves. They were lavish in their displays of wealth but named their children after virtues and lofty qualities, as if to prove they were above the mortal coil. The Faith might have called that sacrilegious, except that the Reynes were exceedingly generous in their donations.

Courage Reyne, the Red Lion, was head of the family. Poetry was his oldest son and heir. Courage wanted Genna Lannister's hand in marriage to Poe, as his firstborn was affectionately called. To see the girl given over to a Frey instead was unbearable. Poe tried to calm his father, said it did not matter. He thought Genna was a lovely girl, but Poe had an eye for her cousin, Joanna. Joanna Lannister was well-read, and had inner beauty that surpassed her pretty face. Soon after the initial disappointment, Courage learned that Joanna was promised to her cousin, Tywin Lannister.

"Either they keep the girls within the family, or marry them far below their station just to keep other good Houses down." Courage grumbled. He was not about to be kept down. He had ambitious plans for all of his children.

Piety was his oldest daughter. A great beauty at fifteen, she was tall and slender, with honey-colored hair and golden brown eyes. Son Steadfast was thirteen and squired for his brother Poetry. Twin nine-year-old girls, Melody and Harmony, completed the immediate family.

Courage had set aside a great dowry for Piety, and made no secret about it. Tytos Lannister made inquiries for her hand on behalf of his poor relations, rather than one of his own sons. Courage was insulted yet again.

His three daughters would stay within the Reyne and Tarbeck families, Courage told Tytos. And since no appropriate Lannister girls had been made available, Poetry and Steadfast would look elsewhere, too.

The Tarbecks, cousins to Courage's wife, shared his sentiments. They pushed Tytos' limits and found them yielding. Why not push further and be rid of Lannister rule? The three families were equals at the least, so if two of them joined, the Lannisters would have to adjust to a new order in the Westerlands. Tarbecks had men of good fighting stock. The Reynes had fewer knights, but of the best quality and plenty of gold to supply a long fight. They did not think the fight would be long, though.

The tide turned when Tywin Lannister took over command of the Lannister army. They knew Tywin was stronger than his father Tytos, but he had been so young, they did not think he could outfox them. Tywin put all of his efforts south, against the Tarbecks. The Reynes rushed troops to help, but the Iron Islanders took advantage of the situation. The Greyjoys made a move on Castamere's coastal mines, just as Tywin thought they would. The Ironborn were repelled, but at a cost, and the Reynes were spread too thin over too much land.

The Tarbecks fell hard. Lady Ellyn Tarbeck's body was left buried in the ruins of her castle. Reyne banner men fell like dominoes as Tywin turned his undivided attention north.

Tywin arranged a parlay and offered terms to Courage, terrible terms. Heavy taxation, marriage contracts on all the girls - not just Courage's own daughters, but his nieces would be sold hither and yon to Freys, Greyjoys, or worse. Poetry must join the Kings Guard while Steadfast and two beloved nephews would take the Black. Courage would have no grandchildren bearing the name Reyne.

"But you will have grandchildren, if you take my terms." Tywin Lannister warned.

Courage tried to deal with Tywin, "Tis your father's woman that brought us to this."

There was plenty of blame to go around, but that was the name Tywin most despised.

"Look what she arranged for Genna, your own sister. Do you expect me to let her sell my daughters as well? What about your own daughter? What does your father's mistress have in mind for Cersei? If I knew the girls would be treated honorably..."

Tywin almost reconsidered his terms. Almost. Courage counterattacked while Tywin thought. Tywin steeled himself, angry that he had been weak. There would not be a single Reyne left alive when he was done.

(*********)

Courage had been in the vanguard when the forces of Tywin Lannister struck Castamere Keep. He died valiantly, true to his name, followed quickly by Poetry. His younger brother, Logic, dragged poor Steadfast away to the inner Keep, to join his mother and sisters. Logic and a few faithful knights held the doors while all of the relatives, household retainers, and the wives and children of the knights raced up to the tower, where they could look at the carnage below. The Reynes were finished. What level of mercy would they be shown?

Piety could not look away. The bodies of the men were defiled in ways her innocent young mind never thought possible. The middle Keep fell and they could hear the screams of women and children from the countryside that had come to her father for protection. Courage had failed them all.

The men and her mother talked quickly. Mother took off all of her fine jewelry, tore her hair and clothes in mourning, and waited on her knees to beg for the lives of those who remained. The others fell to their knees behind her, even Steadfast. Piety could not tear herself away from the windows.

When the Lannister men stormed through the last door, there was no chance to even beg. Her mother was run through with a sword before she could utter a word. Piety saw the men's eyes - they were mad with bloodlust. She prayed to the Stranger, "_Make me a bird._" and ran to an open window. _Either I shall fly away, or I will take the mercy of a quick death_.

She jumped.

In her panic, she chose the wrong window. She landed not twelve feet below, on a thick canvas awning. Dazed and winded, she wondered if she now had wings. She did not. She began to crawl to the edge of the awning. It was still a far enough drop to kill her. But then someone else dropped from the window above.


	2. Darkness

Piety looked at the rising sun through swollen eyes. The screaming above had stopped. All of her family was dead. The laughing and grunting hadn't stopped, so Lannister men were still punishing the lifeless bodies.

The soldier beside her would not stop talking, "May the Maiden forgive me. I am sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry." He'd had the same hellish look in his eyes as the other men when he jumped after her. He was perhaps more crazed than the rest, because he had jumped to what should have been certain death just for a chance to catch his prey. He had beaten and raped her on that awning throughout the night, just as all the Lannister men did with whatever they could grasp. Now, the sunlight seemed to have washed the evil from his eyes. He tried to get her to drink water from his flask. She could not swallow. Could not move. The pain was unbearable.

The soldier looked over the awning, and called to someone below. Piety heard a ladder scrape against rock. The soldier cut a piece of awning, wrapped her up, and flung her over his shoulder. He was big man, bigger than any knight in her father's lands. He carried her effortlessly and scurried down the ladder.

"No, no!" his friend protested. "Not a wench! Orders are nothing comes out of here alive!"

"She will. Do you have a cart?"

"Got four."

He was among a group of common soldiers, but even they had their spoils. He and his men were loading food - they had raided a corn bin, a root cellar, and a smoke house. Others would be taking weapons from the forge, fine furnishings, or tapestries depending on their rank. The knights would have the jewels they stripped from the high born. Tywin Lannister would take all of the gold and diamonds. All knew what was theirs, and dared not touch anything above their station. Prisoners were usually doled out by rank as well, to be held for ransom or to earn their freedom by laboring in the fields if they were small folk. But there would be no prisoners - no survivors and no one to pay ransom if there had been. Every man, woman and child had died. All but Piety. The soldier found a large sack and put her in it, and loaded her on a cart next to what smelled like a sack of potatoes. They rode past all the guarded checkpoints, somehow.

She heard the horses, and the men's voices. She thought more men and carts joined them, then some split off. The soldier was the leader of the group, for when he raised his voice, the others stopped chatting, or changed direction.

The cart ride was long, it seemed endless. She imagined that she had died, and this was the ride between the First Hell and the Second, which would be much, much worse.

They stopped to rest and eat. It must be mid day, she reckoned.

The soldier picked her up off the cart, still sacked, and carried her like she was so much laundry. She heard water, and knew a stream was near.

The sack came off, and she was blinded by the sunlight.

"Here." he said gently, and gave her water in a cup, collected from the stream. She was so thirsty, she tried to swallow. This time it went down. He kept the cup to her mouth until it was all gone, then got her another one.

"You need to clean up, and throw away those clothes." he said.

She did not resist when he cut off the last ragged strips of her gown. He took off her jewelry - pearl necklace, gold hair combs and ivory bangles, a carved amber ring and her silver filigree girdle set with rubies. He put them in a leather bag, and handed her soap. At least she thought it was soap, but unlike any she had used before. It was rough cut and smelled not much better than the soldier. He picked her up and set her in the stream. The cold water shocked at first, and then felt good on her bruised body.

He sat on the bank and watched her as he cut the gold buckles off of her shoes, then tossed the shoes far in the water. He inspected pieces of her gown, tore off the sewn pearls with his teeth and spit them into the bag as well, before putting all the fabric under a rock, out of sight.

Piety cleaned off the blood as best she could.

"Come out now, please." he said.

He had managed to take a cheap shift of a dress on the way out, and he put it on her, though she was still wet. He had her sit on her sack while he wrapped up the ankle she had sprained in the fall. He seemed to know what he was doing. Next, he tended to the injuries he had caused. He opened the back of the dress wide enough to apply a dressing to her ribs, then laced her back up.

He handed her a leather glove and said, "Bite on this."

She did, and it muffled a scream when he popped her shoulder back in place. He tied her arm down to her chest and took back the glove.

"I am sorry I hurt you, Glynnia. Your name is Glynnia now, and you are a seamstress. _Glynnia._ Can you say that?"

She could not. He picked her up and carried her back to the cart.

The men were silent when they approached, eating mid meal quietly by the fire. Someone handed him food and he took it once he set Piety down.

"Still summer, and going to be a mild autumn. You did good getting that seed corn, Meryn. We can bring in a worthy crop from it." the big soldier spoke. It seemed to ease the tension, and they all started talking. No one talked about what they had done and seen only hours ago. They talked about their plans, how far they would travel that day, how hard they should press the horses, and what they would do when they got home. Castamere was nothing to them.

The soldier brought her a bowl of broth, and held it to her mouth to drink. She did, a bit, just to make him go away sooner. He put her back in her dirty, blood-stained sack and placed her on the cart. They were on their way again.

(******)

The men stopped suddenly. The soldier took her out of the sack and Piety whimpered when she saw it was now nightfall.

"Don't be afraid." he whispered. He gave her water and carried her to the woods. She thought he meant that she should relieve herself but she could not, not with a man watching. He guessed the reason for her shyness and turned away.

He carried her back to where the men had set up camp. She ate a bit - the soldier soaked bread in broth for her at dinner. He had a gentle touch. Was this the same man as last night? Why should he be, she reckoned. She was not the same girl and never would be again. Even her name was gone.

(*****)

Seven more days travel and they were near his home. The soldier took off her sack - they were far enough away from Castamere to let her be seen with them.

She kept her eyes to the ground until they approached their destination in the foothills - a keep, small but well built and practical. Bells rang when the procession of soldiers was sighted. Servants and families and a pack of dogs rushed out to greet them. The carts were brought inside the keep, before a one-legged older man. The old man was big and gruff, but sincere when he praised the Seven for returning the men alive with only a few lightly wounded.

"I found a seamstress on the road." the big soldier said, "She needs employ."

"On the road, you say?"

"Yes. Picked her up this morning, on our way home."

The other soldiers nodded and the old man asked no further questions.

Some men lived at the keep, but others had farms or mills or mines to get back to. They parted with many blessings and thanks and gifts from the spoils. The servants tended to the rest of the goods, and took the horses to the stables.

Piety then realized that the soldier was a knight - his enormous armor was on one of the carts. He had worn light brigandine like his men during the close quarter fighting. He must be the old man's son. They had the same black eyes. They were dark as Dornishmen, but Dornishmen did not come that tall and broad, she knew.

The soldier beckoned Piety to follow him inside, and she did. Her muscles were still bruised, and stiff from the long cart ride, but she did not want him to think he had to pick her up again. She trailed behind them, taking in her surroundings. Their banner was yellow, with three black dogs. She did not know this House.

Only once they were inside did the old man show his anger at what his son and the men had brought back.

"You squired for Tytos Lannister. We brought good men to the fight. They should have given you better than a common soldier. Not even a hedge knight's share, and here you are a banner man. If his son Tywin is going to treat you like a sell-sword, he had best pay you like one!"

"I paid myself." The soldier poured the contents of the leather bag onto his father's table. "Better than I had any right to..." he swallowed hard and did not look his father in the eyes, "... because Tywin Lannister did give House Clegane 1,000 acres more land to the south. The lads took all that seed because we knew we'd be planting, and that would be our gold come winter."

The old man was pleased after all. His son came back with far more than expected.

"Who gets your seamstress tonight?" he asked.

"No one. She's not for sharing. She's a good girl. We'll take care of her, and put her to work when she is better."

(******)

The soldier put Piety in the care of an older woman, a scullery. The maid was not kind - threw some fabric at Piety in the morning and said, "Make yourself a dress, seamstress, or go naked."

The soldier had guessed right about Piety's skills. He figured girls like her knew how to embroider, and that was close enough. She had learned to sew practical things those last months of the war, when Castamere was stacked thick with refugees and all able bodied women and girls were cooking and sewing and washing, even her own mother.

She made herself a simple dress, and quickly despite her injuries. The maid gave her other tasks, mostly mending. Piety did as she was bid and did not speak.

The soldier checked on her often. "No one bothers you? I told none to lay a hand on you."

She nodded that she was fine.

She looked thin. He rightly guessed that no one was making her eat, not even offering her food since she was not asking. He sat with her then, morning and evening meal in the kitchen with the other household servants. He was working too much to see her for midday meal, but he got enough food in her.

Her cuts and bruises and broken bones healed. She never looked at herself, so she did not know she was beautiful again.

The senior seamstress took her from the maid, after she had proven herself.

"Thought you was just a camp slut, but you've had training."

No one thought she was high born, since she was too timid to look any of them in the eye. She was not trying to hide herself, it was just how she felt.

She sewed shirts and trousers for the old man, a widower, and his son, the soldier. She could not bear to think of him as a knight. She knew what true knights were.

The soldier got her to talk a little, say her new name, Glynnia, and ask for things when she needed them.

She asked him his proper name, and he realized no one had told her.

"Ser Pypar Clegane, son of Ser Baelor Clegane. Everyone here calls me Pup." He did not fool himself into thinking it was a good sign that she asked. She only needed to know who she was hating.

He ordered the seamstress to take her outside, in the sunlight.

The seamstress asked if Piety knew how to dye cloth. She did not. The older woman took her out to gather berries and flowers to make yellow, red and blue. The older woman started to be kind, offering to ask around for her family among the refugees that were slowly coming out of the mountains. Piety said she was sure they were dead. No one was looking for her, and she had no one to look for.

Piety stopped eating again. She knew the protective numbness around her was lifting because she was finally able to cry a bit. The pain of her loss was also making her physically sick, or so she thought. The older seamstress knew better.

"Poor little Glynnia is with child." she told the old man. They shared a bed a few nights a month, when mutual need arose, "Should I give her moon tea?"

The old man hesitated, then said, "Ask my son."

(******)

"Glynnia, I'm going to marry you." the soldier told her.

"No." she said and shrunk back, waiting to be hit.

"Glynnia, nothing will change. I won't force you, I swear it. But this is the only way I know to protect you."

She said nothing else, closed her eyes to keep back the tears, and nodded. A Septon came the next day and it was done.

Her husband did not touch her, but moved her into a nice bedroom by his, at the top of the Keep, with a big fireplace and locks on all the window shutters.

He would come in to her room every night after dinner. He stayed long enough to keep up appearances that the marriage was real, then he would apologize and leave.

"I know who you were." he blurted out one night. "We met before."

She looked at him blankly.

"Your cousin Jovial slipped away from his Septa and got lost at the tournament at Lannisport two years ago. I picked him up so he could see over the crowd, and he pointed out the family box. Your Uncle thanked me for returning him, and introduced you all."

"Jovial is dead now." she stated.

"I know. I'm...sorry for your loss." and he left.

She had terrible dreams that night. She dreamed of a sweet, blond-haired boy rising above a crowd of raging soldiers and knights and monsters, his body being passed from one spear tip to the next.


	3. Gregor

Piety did not understand that she was pregnant until six months along. Her wounded mind had not allowed her to comprehend, and when it finally did, she panicked. She asked the seamstress for help, and was told it was too late. The seamstress rattled on - _she was a married woman now and should oblige her husband, who was so good to her. Here he was, not letting her child be a bastard and raising her up from a seamstress to the lady of the house. He could have had another banner man's daughter with a little dowry. The Old Man was not happy about this match, didn't she know? Not one bit, he always thought his Pup was too smart to get carried away over a pretty face. She was pretty, far prettier than any girl in these parts. Good looks only went so far, and lasted so long, so give him a few sons and then get old and fat and ugly like the rest of us. _

Piety spent the last few weeks of her confinement in bed, too big to move. The maester and the midwife agreed that mother and child were in peril, and recommended the drastic step of cutting the baby out. Her father-in-law, with his years of experience in the kennels, replaced the midwife in assisting the maester. Everyone thought that she would die, certainly Piety thought so. But she didn't.

The baby was a boy. She hated the sight of him.

"What do we name him?" her husband asked, as if that question meant anything to her.

"Violence." she whispered.

"Gregor would be better. Rest now."

She would not touch the baby, but her husband expected as much and had found a wet nurse.

She asked her husband to stay away, so he no longer visited her room at night. He spent the time with the baby instead. He made sure a maester, or a Septa, or the seamstress who was kind to her were with Piety at all times, to tend to her needs.

"Tis a sad spell." the womenfolk said. She was such a sad girl to start, it was expected and no one judged her too harshly, not even her father-in-law. She sewed baby swaddling, not because she wanted to but because the old seamstress reminded her that such things were needed in the house now.

Her husband was happy with the boy. Her father-in-law was thrilled. "Biggest baby ever born in Westerlands. Only a Clegane could make a boy like that." the old man crowed. He'd been suspicious, wondering how many men had pushed that girl into the dirt before his son found her. But the baby looked just like his son at that age, only bigger and stronger.

Piety became restless in her own skin, and found herself taking on the role of lady of the house a bit more each day to stay busy. She knew how to run a household much larger than this, so she trained the cooks properly and arranged meals, kept the place clean and the servants in line. She made poultices and preserves better than anyone, as the pieces of her mind fell into place and she tried to remember every useful thing she had ever learned.

She asked her husband to buy quality cloth and saw to it that he and his men were better dressed. Her grateful husband surprised her with even finer cloth, to make herself dresses. He rightly guessed her favorite color, yellow. She still sewed and embroidered for pleasure at night, alone in her room.

Her husband never touched her. They talked pleasantly every evening at dinner, about the events of the day and the work to be done tomorrow. He always asked for her opinion, and valued her advice.

Three years passed. The baby grew huge and horrible. On a good day, Piety could ignore him, but mostly she was afraid of him. She thought that a monster had been in the soldier that night, the last night of Castamere. She had never seen the soldier, now husband, look that way since. The monster was gone from him, she reckoned, but only because he had put it in her body. Things like that could happen when all the Gods turned away from a place at once, and Hell rose on Earth for a single night.

Her husband announced that he had to go away to war. Piety asked him not to go, which surprised them both. But he had to refuse her request. Tywin Lannister was the Hand of the King, now, and had a duty to keep those Iron Islanders in line. Lord Tywin called on Lannister banner men first. It was the most dangerous place to be, but with the richest rewards should they succeed.

He left in late autumn. Piety relied completely on her father-in-law to see to Gregor's needs, but she was able to help Baelor run the house and Keep nearly as well as when her husband was there. She knew how he liked things done from their many conversations. Her father-in-law never had as much patience as his son did for responsibilities outside the Keep - the Septons and the young men left behind and the small folk. So Piety helped Baelor decide on provisions for the poor and hunting rights and completion of the saw mill. Everyone she met was eager to tell her that her husband was in their prayers.

In his absence, her husband had arranged that gifts be delivered to his family. Gregor got his first pony. Casks of wine and crocks of hot peppers from Dorne came for the Old Man - _'To keep you warm this winter'_, the note said. A trader came to deliver bolts of velvet and thick brocade bought for Lady Clegane, to make her winter wardrobe. Tucked within the fabric were a few books and a note explaining that these would have to serve as their conversation while he was away. Piety's mind pieced together all the parts of the polite stranger she called her husband. She thought she might want know this man, if he were to return.

Piety's husband did come back - in the middle of the first winter storm. The ravens sent to tell them he was coming were delayed, but he and his men pushed through, eager to be home.

It had been too easy, he told his father. Those Ironborn were saving themselves for something bigger and Tywin Lannister agreed with him. He had been given a nice pile of the King's silver for his efforts, though, and he was grateful for that. No telling how long winter would last. He and his men had also looted iron-forged weapons, tools, and armor. They brought back stacks of sealskins, eager to make themselves coats of this strange new material. The most unusual thing they brought back was a harp.

"No telling where the Ironborn looted it first. It is not of their handicraft." her husband said.

Piety used to play the harp in her old life. She looked at her husband and wondered if he guessed. She realized she told him next to nothing about herself over the years, but he had a way of guessing right. She waited until the other men had cleared out after the celebration dinner before she approached the instrument. She sat down and played it as if she was in her father's conservatory. The memory of music was purely pleasant to her, with no sadness.

Her father-in-law, who had finally come around to appreciate her in the half-year his son was gone, was amazed. Even the monstrous little boy settled down and listen, falling asleep on his father's lap.

When the evening grew late, her husband carried the sleeping boy to his room, for Gregor had grown too big for his nursemaid to carry. Then he walked with his quiet wife to their own doors. Piety surprised him by walking into his room.

"It is not that your brought back a harp, though it pleases me." she said. "It is that you brought yourself back. I worried about you so much that I prayed for you. I did not realize how much I had missed praying, or how much I would miss you. I want to...forgive you and...and...truly share my life with you."

She kissed him, the first time they touched since he brought her to the Keep.

"Thank you." her husband sighed like a prisoner whose chain had been removed from his neck, "If I only had the forgiveness, that would be enough."

She spent the night with him, and all the nights thereafter.

(******)

Ten months after her husband's return from the Iron Islands, Piety safely delivered a baby girl.

"I want to call her Grace, for we have found grace between us." she said, feeling like a woman, a wife, and a mother for the first time.

"Grace is not a name. Only a Reyne would call a child Grace. I am sorry, but we will never be that safe."

'We' - he used that term for their secret, as much his as hers. She understood now that he risked his life every minute of every day by keeping her. He had done it as penance for having wronged her...until she forgave him, and then he did it out of gratitude and a true caring for her.

"What can we name her, then?" she asked without complaint.

"I am expected to ask Tywin Lannister for permission to name her Lanna. A passel of babies have been born to us men returned from the Iron Rebellion, and it is the fashionable name for a banner man's daughter."

She nodded in understanding. "I hope he turns you down."

Tywin did not. The girl was Lanna, but Grace in their hearts, the child of forgiveness and friendship.

Her husband had hoped that the newfound joy of motherhood would help Piety begin to love Gregor. It did not. Gregor thrived, though, and was as indifferent to Piety as she to him. His grandfather doted on him, spoiling him. Her husband was not so blind to Gregor's faults, but still he loved his firstborn, and tried to teach Gregor the value of things in terms his dark mind could understand.

"Don't kick the dog. If you make him lame or too timid, he will not serve you well."


	4. Aelinor's Fairy Tale

It was spring, and Pup had gone into the mountains with his father and five-year-old Gregor and some men to hunt wolves. The Clegane men liked to hunt, and the small folk expected that the landowner would keep the wolf packs in check, protecting the new lambs and calves.

When they returned to Clegane Keep after a fortnight, laden with furs, Piety rushed to greet them.

"You should not leave me alone so long." she scolded her husband. By the Seven, she had missed him. She sent the servants scurrying to draw hot baths for the men and prepare a welcome feast.

When dinner was over, and the guests and children put to bed, Piety and her husband retreated to their bedroom.

"I have something to show you." she said. "A merchant came through, and I bought a few things that we needed."

Pup was pleased. He had left her enough coin to run the household while he was gone, and extra coin in case she had opportunity to buy herself something pretty.

He imagined she'd bought herself dresses, but instead she surprised him with a stack of books upon her winter clothing chest.

She had an atlas, a star map, children's primers for different ages, a dictionary, two books on the history of the Westerlands, nine volumes of poetry and songs from the old Kingdoms of Westeros, a richly illustrated book of knightly adventures, a bestiary of Essos, botanicals, a gospel of the Stranger, and many small books with colorful woodblock printed pages, no doubt for Lanna Grace.

"This is the new library of House Clegane."

He laughed, "More pictures than words here, woman. Not showing much faith in your men folk, are you?"

He opened one of the little books, "Valyrian, is it? Once upon a time..." he tapped the page, "I can sound that much out."

"Yes, how did you...?" and she stopped. Many knights did not know Valyrian these days. She did not think that a man of humble birth such as her husband would have been taught the language, but she was ashamed to assume so casually.

"My grandmother spoke Valyrian. Taught it to Father and then to me when I was small. I stopped speaking it altogether when I squired. My accent was so bad, I was ashamed to try it again in front of learned folk. Not what you'd call high Valyrian, I am sure. You speak it well?"

"I do."

"Then you should talk to my father with it. He would be pleased to hear his mother's tongue. You always find new ways to please him."

"Maybe some of his mother's favorite fey tales are in these books." she smiled.

"Doubt it. She couldn't read, so her stories weren't from books... and slaves have different tales than other folk."

Piety looked at her husband with her big golden eyes.

"My grandmother was a slave, a brown-skinned Ghiscari." he looked her square in the eyes. Six years and two children, and he was just starting to talk to her about who he was. Piety realized that he had been even slower to share himself than she had been. She hadn't even been trying to guess at his heart, yet he always guessed at hers before she opened it up to him.

"What was she like?" Piety asked, meeting his stare.

"Tough as boiled leather, except with Father and me. Cooked us up food so spicy, it'd peel your tongue. I think she was pretty back in the day, but it did her no good so she didn't miss her looks when she got old. Oh, how she hated winter. Hated the cold, and all that white."

"What did she like, besides you and your father and spicy food?"

"Dogs. Summer while it lasted. Dornish wine when we could get it."

"Tell me one of her fey tales."

"They're slave stories. You won't like them."

"But I want to hear it." she insisted. She did want to know the stories he grew up with.

"All right. Do you want it in common tongue or Valyrian? If I use the second, you can judge how bad my accent is."

"Valyrian, please."

_Once upon a time, there was a slave girl in Astapor. Not long after her red flower first bloomed, her Master made her with child. She birthed a strong boy that she loved. Her Mistress also had a boy soon after, but he was not as strong and handsome as the slave's child. Mistress was jealous of the slave girl, because she was pretty and the Master always picked her bed before his wife's._

_One day, the Mistress told the slave girl to go to market and fetch honey. The slave girl cried, "Please, Mistress, the Unsullied are in the market today."_

"Unsullied?" Piety asked.

"The story will explain." he promised.

_"Go." ordered Mistress. The slave girl begged to leave her son at home, but the mistress said 'no', the slave baby would cry for his mother, and wake the Mistress' baby. So the slave girl put her son in a covered basket and carried him to market as carefully as she could so that no one would see him. She gave him a piece of gizgarfo to suck on so he would not cry._

"Gizgarfo?"

"The root of a reed plant from the east. It was the sweetest thing a slave would have to eat." Pup explained.

_She had almost reached the honey trader when an Unsullied novice saw that the front of her blouse was wet with milk. He took the basket from her arms, and took out her son. The slave girl begged the novice not to do it, to spare her son and find another, but he had trained his whole life to be Unsullied, and he could only be true Unsullied if he was blooded. Unsullied don't blood by killing a fox, or a bear, or a man. They are only blooded by killing a baby. It must be a slave baby, of course, and they must pay for it, but slave babies come cheap in Astapor. The novice cut her son's throat and made the mark on himself like his Masters told him. He gave her a silver coin and said, "This is for your Mistress." _

_The slave girl took her dead baby home and laid him before the Mistress, and gave her the silver coin. Mistress slapped the girl and said, "You forgot my honey."_

_The slave girl said, "Yes, Mistress." and left the house, but she did not go far. She crept back inside through a window, took Mistress' sleeping baby, and put it in the sling that once carried her own beloved son. She went back to the market and bought honey and waited in the center of the square. Soon another novice came to her. She did not beg, but handed the baby over. The novice became Unsullied when he cut the child's throat, made the mark on himself and handed her a silver coin, "For your Mistress."_

_The slave girl threw the dead baby in the harbor, so that Mistress would have nothing to bury. She knew the Master and Mistress would have to bury her child with honor and gifts and prayers, to hide the great shame that their own child's body was lost. She crept back into the house and left the honey and the second silver coin in the free-born child's cradle for his mother to find._

Piety was crying.

"I told you, you would not like it."

"I don't like it. Don't ever tell it to our children."

"I won't." he promised.

"I am glad you told me. Now I know."

"Know what?"

"Know where your anger comes from."

"Aye, some of it." he looked down.

"What happened to her?"

"To who?"

"The slave girl, afterwards?"

"It's a fey tale, not a real girl." he assured her, "Nothing more to tell."

He hated to see her cry. Not when she was smiling every day now, happy to be alive. Happy with him, maybe, or at least he liked to think so. She did not need to hear the rest of the story.

_The slave girl ran back to the harbor and looked at the ships about to sail for faraway lands. One ship was loading pretty dogs to cross the Narrow Sea. The slave girl had a way with dogs._

_She walked boldly up to the ship's Captain and said, "My Master sends me as a gift, to tend the dogs for their new master." The Captain knew he should not believe the girl and should send a message to the Kennel Master. But the girl was young and pretty. This would be a very long sea journey. It would not seem so long with her in his bed. So he took the slave girl and the hounds to Lannisport. _


	5. Baelor

Baelor Clegane rolled out of bed and put his one foot on the floor. His stump was paining him today. Some might say it was a sign that winter was coming, but he knew better. Winter didn't bother him, thanks to his father's icy blood, just like summer drought never bothered him thanks to him mother's hot desert blood. He knew he was just getting old and tired. And he was troubled after arguing with his son last night. They only ever argued over Gregor. The big little boy had a temper, and a streak of mean in him. Everyone knew it.

"You raised me to know better, Father." his Pup reminded him. "Why are you letting Gregor ride rough over animals and even other children?"

"Gregor is not the same as you and me. He doesn't have to mind his place, for his own good. He is the first of our line born under a roof we _own_. Gregor is from the class of people that does the taking. He's a born taker, alright, so let him take what he can, and make no apologies for it."

"I love my son. I am grateful to the Seven and to you that he can have a better life but I fear for the kind of man he will be if this continues." the younger Clegane implored. Pup had given over control of Gregor to his father when he went away to war, and now Gregor only heeded Baelor.

"What kind of man?" Baelor asked. "He can be the greatest knight in Westeros. He's bigger and stronger than either of us at that age, and trained in _warfare_ since he could walk, not dog grooming. This boy could be a legend, and make the name Clegane legend."

It was a painful subject between them, the name Clegane. It was not their true name, and they both knew it. Pup wished his father had changed it when he was knighted for saving Tytos Lannister's life. Lots of humble families on the way up produced a false pedigree and claimed the name of a dormant House. Not Baelor Clegane. He had hated his mother's husband, Seth Clegane, too much for that. He wanted the revenge of knowing the slave's son had taken that name farther than that vicious drunken bastard ever could. Pup knew the story well, no brutal detail left out.

_When Gerold Lannister's wife saw that a slave girl had been shipped with those fine desert hounds from Astapor, she damned near fainted. Lannisters owning a slave! Scandalous! Her husband wanted to leave the dark wench at the pier and let her sell herself for her supper, but Lady Lannister would not hear of it. It was the duty of the Lords of the Rock to help the ignorant thing live like a human being. So Lady Lannister pressed gold coins into the hands of Seth Clegane, their Kennel Master, and he agreed to marry the girl. _

_The slave girl was given a queenly new name, Aelinor, and was bemused by this upside down world where a man was paid to take her instead of paying to get her. The fine Lady told her this was marriage, but Aelinor could not for the life of her see how it was any different than slavery. Seth Clegane owned her, same as a Master. She did everything he asked, when he asked, and still he beat her. Life was worse as a wife than as a slave, because if she had been a slave, she could have been sold to a Dornishman like the hounds. Those Astapori dogs fared poorly that first winter, as did Aelinor. They would not hunt at all in snow, so Seth Clegane recommended they be sold South, and Gerold Lannister agreed. But Aelinor had to stay behind, because she was 'free'._

_She was lonely without those desert dogs. They had been like children to her. She was a grown woman now, and longed for a baby of her own again, but her husband would not bed her. She did not know why, only that he bedded no one and nothing else so there was little hope of change. She dared not bed another man without her husband's leave, just as she would not have bedded another man without a Master's leave. _

_She was useful to her husband, cooking and keeping their living quarters clean. She was gifted with the hunting dogs - the trackers and the sight hounds. But Seth Clegane also kept war dogs for the Lannisters, and Aelinor was afraid of them. _

_Fighting dogs had to be kept ready for warfare, and Seth Clegane liked to entertain the nobles and the small folk alike by letting them watch the dogs train. Casterly Rock had several fine fighting pits, perfect for watching the dogs tear apart a dozen rabbits, or a stag, or less fortunate dogs. The fights between dogs often made Aelinor cry. Seth Clegane made coin on the side this way. He mostly spent it on fine drink, but sometimes spent it for bigger and better attractions to the pit. _

_The biggest attraction by far was the Wildling. Traders had brought it down from the North in a cage, like a bear. They said it was a Thenn, the biggest breed of Wildling to be had. It was nearly seven feet tall, with milk white skin, and pale grey eyes. It was covered in scars of its own making, as if to prove it could do worse to itself than any enemy. Thenn's weren't considered human, so the traders were able to skirt the laws against slavery. It cost Seth Clegane a great deal of silver. It also cost Seth a good fighting dog, when the Thenn proved better and faster than expected, and snapped the dog's neck. Thinking he might lose more of the pack and be in serious trouble with Gerold Lannister, Seth threw Aelinor in the pit as a distraction. The Thenn was more man than animal after all, preferring to rape Aelinor than kill more dogs. The audience of small folk cheered on the unexpected second act. _

_Seth Clegane shamelessly used Aelinor's body to lure the Thenn away from the dogs and back into his cage time after time, until six months later, when the Thenn finally had his throat laid open by a particularly strong and cunning mastiff. _

_By that time, Aelinor was with child and determined to keep it. Seth Clegane did not care. He was curious to see what kind of mutt she would whelp. Aelinor had a son nearly as dark as a Ghiscari and nearly as big as a Thenn. _

_"Perfect mutt." Seth Clegane laughed. Breeding people was just as easy as breeding dogs. Seth ignored Aelinor's son, but pretended it was his when the noble folk were around. Lady Lannister prided herself on having 'saved' Aelinor and would have been outraged if she ever knew what had gone on in her own kennels. Lady Lannister herself had sent congratulatory gifts and suggested the boy be named Baelor._

_Aelinor kept her son out of Seth's way, especially when he was in a drunken rage. She got her work done every day except for the two she labored bringing him into this world. By the time he was four, the little boy was helping his mother with the dogs. By the time he was six, he was better at handling the dogs than kennel boys twice his age. By the time he was nine, he had beaten Seth Clegane bloody and told him to never raise a hand to Aelinor again. By the time he was eleven, he and his mother were the true Kennel Masters at the Rock, and they kept Seth around for show, since people expected to be dealing with a grown man, not a foreign woman and a child. _

_Seth was afraid of Aelinor's son - he'd bred a girl to a monster and the resulting mongrel wanted to kill him. Seth could not trust the dogs - they obeyed Aelinor and her bastard. He had to steady his nerves with more and more wine. By the time Seth Clegane drank himself to death, the Lannisters didn't notice his absence. That was patience - Aelinor taught her son and grandson that lesson. _

"You and I made more out of that stolen name Clegane than those fine free-born Andals ever did, Pup." Baelor Clegane told his son.

"Father." his son said with despair, "We are not slaves. You are so afraid we will become slaves again, you would see Gregor turned into a Master."

"Damned right I am raising that boy to rule other men." Old Man Clegane was defiant.

"Gregor has a dark nature. He was born that way, and it is my fault. Not his. Not Glynnia's. I need your help to turn him to the light, or he is going to be everything Aelinor taught us to hate and fear."

"You tend to the Keep, the land, the small folk, the soldiers, and your wife. You do that well, son. You make me proud every day. But I am raising Gregor as I see fit, for the good of this House."

"Then it will be Seth Clegane's revenge, because Gregor will be more like him than like us."

Baelor had slapped his son over that comment. It ended the conversation.

In the cold light of morning, Baelor regretted it. He'd been so angry - what did Pup know? Seth Clegane was dead long before Pup was born. Sure, he and Aelinor had explained it all, but that was not the same as living through it. Baelor was sorry he hit his son, though.

Days like this, he missed all that he had lost. He had damned near laughed when he woke up years ago to find his leg gone. He'd lost so much, it seemed like all the Gods had left to take were pieces of his body.

He thought about his wife, a gentle soul who calmed all of the anger in him. A baby that they had wanted so much. His mother Aelinor, the strongest woman he could ever know. And Baelor Two, his oldest son, always called Bolt. Then it was just him and Pup, and Pup walked around stunned for a year, not believing Bolt had died and he had lived. Bolt was a sight to behold. He got that name because he reminded everyone of lightning with his pale white skin and crackling energy. But that big dose of Thenn blood made him weak to fever, and he passed away while Pup pulled through. It was hard on a younger brother to know what to do with himself, especially coming out from under Bolt's shadow.

Pup worried too much, Baelor told himself. Pup had strange thoughts, always afraid that he'd turn out to be a monster from one of Aelinor's stories. He worried he'd be savage like his Thenn grandfather. _'Maybe Bolt got the light skin and I got the mean.' _Pup used to say. There wasn't a mean bone in his body - Baelor sometimes worried that his second son was too gentle. Sure, Pup could fly into a rage, especially after Bolt died, and get in fights with grown men. Sometimes it'd get so bad, Baelor would have to pin him down until it passed. Squiring for Tytos Lannister had helped. Pup put all that anger into training to fight. He put it in the right 'direction' as they say. Pup never hurt anyone who didn't have it coming, his father was sure of that, so stop worrying already.

There was nothing wrong with Gregor, either. Pup was just confused, one foot in the world of crowns on heads, and another foot in the world of chains on necks. But Baelor decided he'd talk to his grandson after all. He'd teach Gregor to be a little more careful about what his father found out. The boy just needed to learn to keep secrets, was all. That would calm Pup down. Everyone would be better off that way.


	6. Loyalty

Tywin Lannister looked out at the field set with table upon table of sworn knights and their families. They were all here to celebrate the seventh anniversary of the end of the rebellion. These were all of the knights who had entered the high tower of Castamere, seven years ago, save for two knights who had died since, a third knight who had declined the invitation because he was dying, and a fourth knight who had closed his borders due to a report of plague among his small folk.

Life was good at the Rock. Better here than at Kings landing, certainly, where the King grew more unstable every day and the job of Hand became more difficult. Tywin looked with pride at his beautiful children, Jaime and Cersei. His wife Joanna glowed with this latest pregnancy. She may even deliver on the day of his greatest triumph, a sign from the Seven.

His happiness would be complete if not for a few things. His sister Genna had come, to his joy. This was only her second visit home since her marriage. But she brought her husband and father-in-law with her. How Tywin hated those Freys. He was not one for regret, but he found his mind wandering to what would have happened if his father Tytos had married Genna to Poetry Reyne. Genna would have been nearby, living comfortably among educated and refined nobles, and the war might have been avoided. But it was done. Tywin told himself he was not regretting so much as thinking about the lessons learned. Strong marriages were needed for the harmony of the kingdom. He planned to gently encourage unions between the most troublesome banner men on this trip, to ensure long-term peace in the Westerlands.

He listened to a fine rendition of the Rains of Castamere. This was Tywin's favorite song about the rebellion, but like any event rich in creative material, it inspired other, less pleasant songs and thinly veiled stories. He'd heard songs about Lady Ellyn's ghost haunting the ruins of Tarbeck Hall, or Steadfast Reyne miraculously alive and hiding in the mountains, plotting revenge and gathering an army of sell swords. And of course, stories that one of the pretty Reyne girls had been whisked away by a novice Septon who loved her, and was living a cloistered life. Tales of horror, adventure and virtuous romance. He would not care, except for that one nagging doubt - that it was truly Piety Reyne's head on a spike after the war.

When Tywin entered that room only twenty minutes after a wave of knights, he was disgusted with the chaos. Every female had been raped at least once, even the young girls. Courage Reyne's wife was dead, his younger son was dead, his 10-year old twin girls were dead and a teenage girl lay dying with her face smashed, slowly drowning in her own blood.

She was Piety, the men swore, because she was a brunette, in a sumptuous red dress, still clutching the hand of one of the dead twin girls.

Tywin leaned in and asked the girl her name.

"Mercy." she whispered, the same word all the other women were crying.

He had his squire search her body for an amber ring, a family heirloom over two hundred years old. The girl wore jewels, but her ring was pearl, not amber. Tywin wanted that ring more than the huge diamonds that once adorned Lady Reyne's neck. It was only amber, but the works of artist Jarret Avedar were legendary, and as rare as Valeryan steel. No one had ever mastered his technique of drilling detailed pictures beneath the surface. It could not be faked. The Lannisters never had one, Avedar having died before he could complete a commission for the family. Tywin wanted that amber lioness to rest on his wife's finger.

He sealed the room and had all of the prisoners and corpses searched. He told his knights that whoever took it would be forgiven, as long as they turned the ring over now, and turned his back to give them opportunity. No one moved.

Tywin sighed. Perhaps it was hidden with the other riches. His smiths were breaking into the Reyne vault even now.

All that was left was to be sure Courage Reyne's children were accounted for. Tywin's brother Kevan would know, for Kevan had been fond of the oldest girl before the war. If only their weak-willed father had pledged Kevan to Piety. Instead, Tytos listened to all those debauched, whining Lannister cousins who had squandered their wealth and then wanted Piety Reyne's dowry for themselves. Courage Reyne would have welcomed Kevan as son-in-law, and this war might have been avoided yet another way. Tywin always suspected that his cousins had promised Tytos' mistress a fee for her support, should the marriage take place. Why else would Tytos have overlooked an obvious way to ensure peace, as well as the feelings of his second son?

Tywin hesitated. He loved his brother, and did not want Kevan to see this ravaged girl dying on a floor that they had once danced on together. It did not matter, not when no one was getting out of here alive.

"This is Piety." he agreed and granted her the mercy she begged for with a quick slice to the throat. One head was as good as another. He had his seven.

A few years later, on the eve of Kevan's wedding to Dorna Swyft, Tywin got a bit drunk while Kevan got quite drunk - drunk enough to sob about Piety Reyne. Tywin knew it was good for Kevan to speak it and be done, and never think on the dead girl again, so he listened patiently. But Kevan said two things that bothered Tywin.

Piety hated the color red. She only wore it when she had to, on formal occasions, to match the family. Piety never took that ring off. She flirted with Kevan that she even wore it when she bathed.

After that, Tywin kept turning the events of that night over in his head. The stories were a jumble of conflicting information. Tywin had even believed that one of his best knights, Pypar Clegane, had died when two witnesses swore they saw him fall - or perhaps jump - out a window. But Clegane had left a message with the guards that he and his men were fine, and heading quickly home. Tywin had told Clegane, as well as a number of other eastern banner man, that they would return to their Keeps immediately after the battle to ensure no Riverland folk encroached on the border through mountain passes. That was Clegane, doing as ordered and not waiting around for the drunken feasting and revelry. All business, those Cleganes.

He'd asked Pypar Clegane about his recollections, next time he saw him face to face, when they were on a ship heading to the Iron Islands.

"Sure I entered the room, Your Grace. I saw that there was no fighting men in there, and I got out quick as I could. I touched no one in that room and I was long gone before you came and sealed it up." Clegane looked him straight in the eye and Tywin knew it was true.

Tywin wished he could expect the same kind of loyalty from these other knights as he got from Clegane. He had invited them all here and as they ate, their belongings were being searched, both in their guest rooms and back at their homes, by Lannister spies. It was the last look for the ring, and then Tywin would give up the search for the lost lioness forever.

The ring reminded him of his first great lesson in loyalty, when his father was attacked by a lioness.

_Tywin was fourteen, and his relationship with his father was strained. The mistress was established in Tytos' life. A woman of such low breeding...he understood his father's loneliness, but to expose his children, especially Genna, to such a wanton was unforgivable. _

_Tywin had not gone hunting with his father that day in protest. It was a bit petulant, perhaps, but he preferred hawking, anyway. _

_When word came of the accident, and his father and the kennel master were rushed inside, Tywin was strangely detached. He efficiently did his duty. He tended to his sister and brothers, who were frantic with anxiety, the loss of their mother still so fresh in their minds. _

_Tytos was bloodied but not in mortal danger. His wounds were painful, requiring over fifty stitches and vigil to keep away infection, but he would live. The kennel master took the worst of it. Tytos insisted that the kennel master stay in the royal chambers and be treated beside him, where he could see that the man received the best care - the least that was owed for such loyalty. The best maesters despaired that the leg could not be saved, and four knights had to hold the big man down while the maester and an assistant sawed the bone. _

_When things settled, and the men were given draughts to ease their pain, Tytos clutched his son's hand and rambled to Tywin, assured him of his love and praising him for his level head. _

_The kennel master was mumbling. _

_"He is asking for his son." Tytos said, "Send a page for him."_

_"I will go myself." Tywin said, eager to get away from his father. The cloying and compliments disturbed him and he had seen a whisper to another page - the mistress would be coming next. Tywin did not want to be there when she arrived. _

_Tywin went to the kennels. What was the name of that Clegane boy? He wasn't sure he remembered which one of the two lads had died of fever last year. The mother, a servant said to be the bastard daughter of noble knight, had died in childbed with a doomed third son some years before that. _

_There was no one in the cramped living quarters, so he checked the kennels. He found a boy crying in a pen, petting a dog that had laid its big head on his lap. So it was the shy, dark boy that had lived - the younger one called Pup. Tywin had to remind himself that the boy was young, maybe ten, and only looked Tywin's age because he was big. _

_The Clegane lad saw him and jumped up. _

_"Young Lord, the hurt dogs is patched up, and look to live. All the rest 'ave been fed, and the three dogs what died have been buried. I was wondering where..."_

_"Where what?" Tywin snapped. _

_"Where my father is to be buried?"_

_"Your father is not dead." Tywin said and realized the boy must have thought that since his father did not come to their own quarters for treatment, he had died. _

_"We took him to the main living quarters." Tywin explained, "So that he should be treated as well as my father, with the best maesters."_

_The boy's dark face lit up. In his relief, the child forgot all decorum and threw his arms around Tywin, who was taken aback. Never one for physical displays when appropriate, this was not remotely appropriate. But Tywin felt something else, felt the power of...loyalty. He was not displeased to be on the receiving end. Loyalty was what was missing from his father. Loyalty to the memory of his mother, to the honor of the family. Loyalty was what Tywin wanted, and this day held his first great lesson in it. This boy was made of the right material. He could easily be made as loyal to Tywin as his father had been to Tytos. _

_Tywin patted the younger boy on the back, "There, there, it will be all right. Wash your face - you don't want your father to see you like that, and come with me." _

How Tywin wished they all had such loyalty. Clegane had been the knight who did not come to the celebration due to fear of spreading illness. Had it been anyone else, Tywin might have been suspicious.


	7. Prayers

Piety got up from the bench. It was seven years since her father died, and she felt much better after praying for his soul. She should talk to Pypar about her father, and maybe tell him some stories - about Reynes and how they picked their unusual names. She should explain that poetry won the hand of her mother, who had a dozen ardent suitors and her parents' permission to make her own choice. So Poetry had to be the name of their firstborn, be it boy or girl. Her parents had lost three babies in the womb after Poetry's birth, and they credited prayer for the life of Piety. Sometimes the name of the baby was apparent by their character in the first few days of life. Steadfast had been a calm, quiet, and perhaps stubborn baby. Melody and Harmony cried in sweet tandem. The Reynes had stories, too. Good stories. She wanted to be well enough to remember the good parts, and share them with her husband.

The story she most wanted to tell Pypar was how she managed to forgive him. Sometimes he looked at her like he doubted she ever could have, but she did. It had just been so hard to put into words. He still did not know that most of her despair took root before he laid a hand upon her. Refugees to Castle Reyne had told stories, and she had seen terrible wounds on children. Her parents had tried to shield her and her little sisters, but some of the handmaids knew how badly the war was going, and what happens to girls during war. They told her in hushed whispers at night. Then, war was at her door, and she saw men, women and children die brutally due to her father's pride. She had loved her father, but on that night she hated him. She looked at everything happening as his fault. Why should the Stranger have been spared her from the brutality going on around her, when it as her own family that brought them to this point?

She realized that her father and his men would have behaved no better if they had been the victors, ravaging Casterly Rock. That knowledge wounded her soul.

It took time, but she came to know that Pypar was fundamentally a good man, and not himself that night. It made sense to her that she could hate Pypar and then come to care for him in this world of cruelty interspersed with moments of kindness and redemption. Her father built up love between them every day of her life, and then lost it in a single evening. Pypar had the opposite path - starting from a dark place and working his way into her heart, with patience and kindness.

Piety was on the path to forgiving and loving her father again, too, but it was slow. Courage had been so proud - afraid she'd be married below her station if he surrendered. What was the worst that could have happened? That Tywin Lannister ordered her married to a Kennel Master's son as a joke?

Pypar said once that he knew who she was. Well, she knew who he was. A middle-aged, minor knight sworn to House Reyne had sought advice from Courage - he said that the father of a young Lannister knight wanted to arrange a marriage between their children. The elder knight was considering it - he had five daughters and no dowries for them, so a landed knight seemed a good match despite a dubious family history. Courage told him to refuse. He said Clegane was a low-born brute, and if none at Casterly would have him, then none at Castamere would, either. Then he gave his sworn knight five generous dowries for his daughters as a gift so they could marry among decent kind. Everyone at court praised her father's generosity and wisdom. No one said anything about the insult levied on a young man he never met.

Now, she was married to the same low-born knight. Pypar was good to her and all the small folk, and devoted to his family and the Seven. She loved their daughter, and their life together.

She looked at the amber ring on her finger. Pypar had asked for it back from Baelor, just weeks after his return. Passing soldiers mentioned Tywin's Lannister's disappointment at its loss, its distinct nature, and priceless value. It could never be sold like the other valuables. Pypar gave it back to Piety when he married her. It was a gesture as wild as her blind leap from Castle Reyne's tower. Any disturbed girl could claim to be Piety Reyne, but only the one with this ring would be believed. If she still wanted to end her life, and end Pypar's as well, she only had to show this ring and they would be found out.

She did not realize the power of what he had put back in her hand. It was a gesture of trust, or acceptance of punishment, however she chose to take it. But that fact did not register in her clouded mind. She only knew that she no longer loved to look at the lioness buried deep inside, so she took a spool of gold embroidery thread, tatted a little seven-petal flower, and bound it to the top of the ring. It sat on her finger, new life hiding old life by a thread.

She now believed that the Seven guided her decision to protect herself, and live, when she chose to hide the ring in plain sight. It was a comforting thought.

Piety liked this little Sept in the foothills. It was far older than Clegane Keep. It had been a simple way station for travelers, but was now surrounded by a thriving community. The Cleganes had come up with the funds to expand it accordingly, without raising taxes. The Sept had a big new nave and a modest guest house attached. They installed three large stained glass window on the north, east, and west walls to honor Bolt, Aelinor, and Audra Clegane, respectively. Piety suspected that the sale of some of her rubies made it all possible, and she was glad of that.

The high Septon of her parents' court only talked about intrigue and gossip. The Septons in this little bit of territory talked about forgiveness of sins and feeding the poor through the winter. The Prime Septon was like a second father to Pypar, as they worked together to ensure that there was gainful employment for the able-bodied, and none were abused by the more powerful.

She liked her life here. If not for the fear of the evil of that long-ago night stalking her, it would be a blissful existence. She kneeled back down and began to pray for the Seven to protect them all from Gregor.


	8. Pypar

"What are your doing, Pate?" Pup asked. Half past midnight and he was rounding up his men, or at least the archers who had to compete early in the morning. Pup expected them to run a bit wild at tournament. He hadn't expected to find a man who was _supposed _to be back home, minding Clegane Keep.

"Making room for more ale." Pate sniggered, after vomiting in the alley.

Pup had brought his family, retainers, and best fighting men to the harvest tournament in Silverfield. It was a minor tourney, not like the kind he had often been to at Casterly Rock and Lannisport, before the War Between the Lions. But he preferred to go to smaller events where his men, still green, could do well. At least that is what he told Baelor. Pup could never take Piety to a big tournament in the northern half of Westerland - someone might recognize her. This was her first time away from Clegane lands since he brought her home after the war, nearly eight years ago. He had wanted to take her out and show her the countryside, let her wander freely among vendors, and be entertained with song and dance. He wanted to do something nice for her, and he thought the time and place was safe.

Pup put a big hand on Pate's chest, stopping him from returning to the makeshift tavern set up among the tournaments tent camp.

"What are you doing _here_, stinkin' drunk and telling stories?"

"I was bored at the Keep." Pate whined. "Ain't been to tourney in years. Missed out on the bit of fun against Greyjoy..."

"Because you were so drunk you missed the boat."

"Yeah, sad to say but I blame Fulk - we was drinking partners and he was supposed to be soberer 'n me that time. "

"He wasn't, and if he hadn't been such a drunkard on the ship, he might have pulled through."

"Really? 'Cause I thought he died of wagging tongue, not sea sickness."

Pup grabbed Pate by his throat and lifted him onto his toes. Not off the ground, though that would have been easy. It was just a little threat.

"If you think wagging tongue is so deadly, why were you wagging yours in that tavern?"

"Was I?" Pate was sobering up. "No, I wern't. I wern't, I'm sure."

"Talking about pretty Lady Clegane, who plays the harp like highborn, but don't know Rains of Castamere 'cause no one's allowed to sing it in front of her? How does that sound, Pate?"

"Was only you who took that wrong. It don't mean a thing. Lots of ladies don't sing war songs, don't like 'em."

"You were very specific, Pate."

"Spessi what? Don't you talk nice, kennel boy. Learned to read and talk nice as a squire. Talking even nicer around the wife. Getting so I can't make out a word you say, but we come from the same place."

"Yes we do, so you know not to fuck with me and mine, don't you, Pate?"

"Fuck you, talking to me like that!" Pate spit out. "I know who you are. Your old man's true father was a Wildling. And his ma? Some Astapori whore, what come free with a pack of hounds." He chuckled. "They called her 'desert soil' - easy to plow but nothing grows. Nothing 'cept your Pa. No one ever seen such a mutt as yer father. Half the kennel men and stable boys at the Rock was afeared your father was theirs, 'til they saw how big he was and knew the Wildling had done it. Clegane is the name of the man what _owned_ your people. Not _your_ name, no. Cleganes... ain't you fucked up? Your old man, pretending to be all uppity landed noble now, when he's a slave's bastard. And you? You get your dirty paws on a highborn girl and try to pass her off as a camp slut. Can't decide if you're clawing your way up or clawing your way down, can you?"

Pate laughed. He was sober enough to know what he was saying. He'd wanted to say it for a long time, until it started eating him up. They'd grown up together, running barefoot among the hounds and the horses. Cleganes were the lowest born servants at the Rock and his mother didn't like him playing with those boys. Now Pup Clegane was a knight with nearly one hundred men in his service and Pate barely had a seat at his table.

"You can't pass for a Ser without all that armor on, can you? Not on your best day, and we both know it. But your pretty wife can pass for a whore now that you broke her in and learned her to like it rough, eh?"

_Now_ Pate's feet left the ground. It should have made him come to his senses, but it didn't.

"You should tell Tywin Lannister." Pate winked, "He won't be mad, old friend. Think about it - Courage Reyne's daughter spreading her legs for a slave's grandson? Whelping little bastards? Your children are bastards cause your marriage was done with false names. I asked a Septon once, as a lark. That's worse fate than killing her, in noble folks' eyes. Tywin will get a laugh out of it, he will. I laugh so hard about it sometimes, I piss myself."

"Piss on this." he tightened his grip on Pate's throat, not enough to crush, just enough to keep him from screaming over what came next.

(******)

Piety stirred in the cot as her husband slipped under the covers.

"Hmmm, did you find them?" she asked.

"Aye." he said and she thought his voice cracked. She reached over to touch him and his hair was wet. He'd put himself under the pump before coming in to the tent. She reckoned he'd been washing off ale, after joining his men for a final round.

"Is everything all right? Was there trouble?" she asked. Men could get into arguments so quickly when they came together to compete. Old rivalries were remembered, and new ones started.

"Go back to sleep." he whispered.

"I can't. I'm wide awake. Are you excited about tomorrow?"

Pup's mind was racing. Specific. Pate was very specific. Piety could have been any of a dozen Reyne relations, any of a score of knights' daughter, even a servant of the nobles would be pretty and refined. Why was Pate so sure Pup's wife was Piety Reyne, of all people? Had he slipped? Had Piety slipped? Then he recalled the slow song playing as he spotted Pate in the tavern.

_A pious girl, her virtue kept,_

_prayed silently within the Sept._

_The girl whose death he did feign,_

_and help escape from Castle Reyne._

A damned song...

_With skin of wheat and honey hair,_

_The novice loved the maiden fair._

_Her harp did make the free bird sing,_

_each eye invoked a golden ring._

Piety kissed him, troubled that he was troubled.

"Such a patient man, you are. I am slow. Slow to tell you things you need to hear from me." She put his hand on her belly, just starting to swell with their third child. "I love you."

He did not say anything. He had felt everything he possibly could for this woman. He had hated her when he first saw her. He had seen so many men and horses and dogs die during that brutal war, die for those noble bastards and their spoiled wives and capriciously cruel children. These were the kind who looked down on and abused his family. He wanted to make one of them pay for it all. He wanted to make her beg, and she did beg him, that last night of the war. She begged him not to hurt her so he raped her. She begged him to kill her so he refused. That was the only reason she lived through the night - until the dawn came and the anger burned away.

When he looked at the broken girl in the morning light, he could not believe what he had done. That was how evil men treated poor women like his grandmother. He, of all people, should have known better. He was ashamed of himself and afraid of the monster that had been inside him. He always feared that something like this would happen, because he knew that slave-blood was only ever half slave-blood. The other half was that of the worst abusers and defilers that ever lived. That was his true heritage, and he'd been fighting it since he was a child.

He took Piety to safety as his penance. He pitied her. He was anguished when he learned she was carrying his child. He took her choices away from her, thinking this had to be the will of The Seven. His guilt nearly crushed him when he saw her suffer in childbed. He was confused and disappointed that she did not love Gregor the way Aelinor had loved Baelor. But he came to respect her as she healed herself. He was grateful for her hard work in making their home comfortable. He admired her generosity, and many small acts of kindness. He felt a great weight lift from his soul when she forgave him. He enjoyed her friendship and then the pleasure of her body, freely given. He knew he loved her. But it did not feel holy, like forgiveness of the Gods should. He loved her so much, he had just killed his oldest friend to protect her. One monster died in him but another was waking up. Seven men had seen him take Piety from Castamere, and he'd had to kill three of them. He wasn't going to wait until fear or greed or jealously tempted the rest into betrayal. He was going to kill them all for love of her.

"You are thinking too much again, husband." Piety whispered. "Don't try to tell me how you feel. Show me." and she kissed him.

She had no idea what he was thinking. She never could guess what was in his mind.

(*********)

Piety sat with her father-in-law after the funeral. "You did well today, Father." she complimented him.

He'd given the eulogy for Pup's men that had died in the rockslide. Terrible tragedy. Baelor was not much for public speaking, but he came up with the words, heartfelt and sincere. The Septon conducted a beautiful service, and the men were put in the ground. They were the last four of the old guard, as Baelor liked to call them, the first soldiers to come to Clegane Keep. They were men they knew from the Rock who were looking to get ahead in this world. They wanted a chance to work their own land, or fight for their own glory instead of being stuck polishing the boots of soldiers and knights.

The only other old guard was Pate, and he had disappeared on them a few months ago, while the family was away at tourney.

_ 'Good riddance to him.'_, Baelor thought. Pup should have let him go a long while back, but Pup was loyal. Baelor didn't like Pate's attitude, always making jokes about where the Cleganes came from, and looking Glynnia up and down like she was a fine draught of ale. Made the lass uncomfortable, though she would not say anything about it. Never a word of complaint from her.

Pup could not be at the funeral. He was sick. He had stayed out in the pouring rain trying to dig the men out, even after it was clear none could have survived. Pup took it hard, blamed himself. But the rains had been heavy and no one could have predicted that the mountain road would wash out like it did. Pup was lucky he was not dragged down with them.

"I'm going to check on my boy." Baelor said. It had been hard to convince Glynnia not to tend to her husband, but she was with child and the maester told her to stay away from Pup and leave the nursing to a Septa. Glynnia slept in her old bedroom, now Lanna's room.

Baelor climbed the stairs to the top of the tower, reminded of why he chose to bunk on the ground floor. Stairs were hard on his stump. Pup liked the highest room, though, picked it for himself when he was barely sixteen and came to the finished Keep for the first time. He'd been so proud of his father's accomplishments and their new home.

Baelor knocked softly and was let in by the Septa.

"He's not eating." she told him.

"You're giving him broth like he's some frail infant, woman. He's the biggest damned knight in the Westerlands. Fetch him a steak and some ale from the kitchen, and he'll eat."

The Septa took off in a huff.

That will keep her a while, Baelor thought. Besides, he knew he had the right idea. He sat on the edge of the bed and put a hand on Pup's head.

"Fever broke. That's good. You'll be on your feet tomorrow." Baelor patted his son on the shoulder. He wasn't sure Pup was listening. Baelor thought he did not want to know the answer to the question that was nagging him, but he asked it anyway. "Do you remember what happened?"

Pup turned away.

"I had a good talk with Septon Daemus, and the men, including the lead lumber man. They wanted you to know, the work we've been putting into that mountain - it's put roofs over heads and food in bellies for years, and will for years to come. You never know what the Seven plan, but life is good here, better than most places."

"I love Glynnia." Pup said.

Baelor laughed. "You say it like you're confessing a sin. A man is supposed to love his wife."

"She said she loved me. She'd seen the worst of me and she could still love me. But she hadn't seen the worst of me. You won't tell her, will you?"

By the Seven, Pup could be strange. Why was he pairing talk of Glynnia with talk of the accident? Baelor had a sinking feeling in his stomach. Those four men were among the fifty that had followed Pup in the War Between the Lions. They'd been in the smaller group that returned home last, lagging behind with the supplies and spoils. They had been with Pup when he picked up Glynnia, that orphan girl by the side of the road.

Glynnia had turned into the perfect Lady Clegane. She knew all the soldiers by name, knew their families, even knew the names of their horses and dogs. But those four might as well have been invisible to her. Baelor never saw her speak to them. Now they were gone, with whatever secrets they might have held.

"You're an easy one to love, you are." Baelor assured his son. "You protect your family. There's nothing else to tell."

Sometimes he forgot that this big hulking man had been just a little boy when his loved ones began to die one by one. Children don't completely recover from that, Audra had told him once, and she would know.

Bolt had been such a perfect blend of all of his grandparents, and all of their strengths. But Pup was different, as if he got something rare from the very soul of each of them. He was always looking over his shoulder, like Audra's haunted mother, Evlyn. He was smart like Aelinor - mapped out those mountain passes better than the surveyor. Pup seemed to calculate what people were thinking, like Audra's father did on the battlefield. Baelor did not want to imagine what Pup might have got from the Thenn.

But Pup maybe had something else that Baelor did not want to think about - the other part of Aelinor. Baelor's mother was deadly as a viper. She admitted to Baelor that she overcame her fear of the fighting dogs, trained them to work in groups of three, and within a month, they tore apart that Thenn. Aelinor had to protect her unborn child from its father, knowing the next rape might make her lose the baby. Aelinor never felt guilty about that, or any other murder she'd played a part in, and there had been more than just her Master's free-born son.

Pup wasn't as free in his soul as slave-born Aelinor, though. Pup suffered guilt the way Audra had, like chains around him. Baelor wished he could take them off, but he didn't know how. He had not tried to fix what he did not realize was broken since childhood. He had no idea how many chains were on his son.


	9. Audra

"We're invited to Lady Domnella Marbrand's funeral." Baelor Clegane told his son at dinner. "Best pack tonight, we'll be leaving early."

Pup would have thought it a joke, had Piety not looked so distressed.

"It is about time that old hag died, but there is no possibility we are invited to her funeral, Father."

"Got the invite right here, and Glynnia read it, too, so don't ask me if I misunderstood." Baelor retorted.

"Maybe we were invited, along with other knightly Houses in the Westerlands. But they only made the...the polite gesture. No one expects us to go. No one wants us to go. It would embarrass them and us to go."

"You have to go." Piety said quietly.

Baelor looked smug. "Now that the old Lady has finally choked to death on her own venom, they want to... what was the words, Glynnia?"

"They want to acknowledge and affirm that your mother, Audra Hill Clegane, was the natural daughter of Lord Pypar Marbrand." Piety said quietly.

"I don't care." Pup said.

Baelor's face fell. "Ah, Pup, sure it's too little and too late. But think about what this would have meant to your mother? Think how important this is to Gregor, to be cousins to the Marbrands - best damned fighting House in the Westerlands. House Clegane stands alone. We'd be stronger with the Marbrands, and they know they'd be stronger with you. They do this because they'd be proud to have you in the family. 'Tis a compliment. That's a reason to celebrate. And of course, I'll be glad to drink to that old bitch Domnella burning in the first of all Seven Hells she'll be visiting."

"Maybe I'm not proud to be part of their family. Did you think of that, Father, that maybe we can be the ones to turn our backs on them? You raised me to hate them, and now you want me to jump at a chance to bow to them?"

"There was nothing they could do while Domnella was alive. She controlled the family."

"Aye, she never gave her husband an heir, so she had the whole Marbrand clan under her thumb, waiting on her to name the next Lord. Only she kept changing her mind, while they kept fighting over who could please her the most. That's why none of them took my mother and grandmother in, when each one of them swore a sacred oath to Pypar Marbrand that they'd protect his daughter." Pup turned to Piety, "I don't know how much of this you know..."

"Everyone heard something about Lady Marbrand over the years. Dangerous Domnella, the woman scorned. I'm sure no one knew the truth like you do, Father." Piety quietly turned to her good-father.

"The truth is, my wife's mother was _not_ a sorceress. Domnella had her tried, convicted, scourged, and burned at the stake out of revenge. My wife, mother of my three sons, was only nine years old and lucky to have got away alive."

Piety did not say anything more. In her noble circle, women claimed that Lady Domnella was the victim, while her husband's mistress was excoriated as a whore. Men lamented that the lurid tales of debauchery and sorcery overshadowed Pypar Marbrand's reputation as a brave knight and brilliant military commander. All thought that the testimony of the Marbrand family at the trial was an embarrassment to their House, even decades later. But one inescapable fact remained - it was the testimony of her own daughter that convicted Pypar Marbrand's mistress.

"They broke her hands and feet." Pup said, knowing what his wife was thinking, knowing the partial truth she would have heard in her circle, when she was still a Reyne. His face grew dark and hard. "That's why she swore against her own mother. I didn't know the story while she was alive, because I was too young to hear it from her own lips, but I knew she was lame, and could not tie my shirt proper."

Piety swallowed hard and looked down at the table.

"Don't cry, Glynnia." Baelor noticed his good-daughter tearing. "I'll tell you how I met Pup's mother. It turns into a nice story."

"I heard the story plenty of times. I'm going to check on Gregor and Lanna." and Pup left the table.

"Please don't ask him to go." Piety implored Baelor. Father and son rarely disagreed, but when they did, Pypar obeyed his father. The only exception that she recalled was when Pypar married her.

With a baby due in nine sennights, she had an excuse to stay home. She and Pup would have had to find some excuse otherwise, since there would be Lannisters at the funeral, maybe every Lannister who could walk - the Marbrands were their kin, and powerful bannermen. Some Marbrands might even recognize her, the ones who had been friends with her brother, Poetry. It was impossible for her to ever attend such an event. The thought of their social obligations to the Marbrand family if they were to become cousins was terrifying. But she was not afraid for herself at this moment. She was afraid for her husband. Perhaps even afraid _of_ her husband. It was a feeling that she did not like.

"I have not seen him this angry in a long time. No good can come of this..."

"And if he does not go, it is as good as us starting a fresh feud with the Marbrands. Tywin Lannister will not be happy with Pup. Seven Hells, Tywin Lannister might have had something to do with the Marbrands asking. They put out the hand, Glynnia. We have to take it."

"Maybe you could go alone?"

"I'm not their blood."

"Then take Gregor."

Baelor shook his head, not used to clever Glynnia being so thickheaded about what was expected of a noble house, "That isn't enough. They want to see 'Young Pypar' for themselves. He come up from nothing, and they credit Marbrand blood for his fast rise, I'm sure."

"My husband needs to stay here with me." she countered. _'There had to be a way to keep Pypar home.',_ she thought anxiously. '_By the Seven, what kind of scene might he make at that funeral when a dark mood was upon him?'_

"Unless he's to deliver the baby himself, no. He does not need to be here." Baelor insisted, "Sorry, girl, I know childbed is not easy on you, but a man has responsibilities."

_'Pypar's responsibilities are here.'_ she thought. Damn Baelor's pride and ambition. She had come to love her good-father, but with each passing year, he grew less content with their quiet life on his own lands. He had grand plans for Gregor, and pushed Pypar to spend more and more time at Casterly Rock to advance those goals. Perhaps reminding Baelor of simpler times would help him come to his senses.

"Tell me about Pypar's mother, please." Piety asked. Her husband had shared so much of himself since their daughter was born, but his own mother was still a mystery to her.

"You know the history, Glynnia. Ser Pypar Marbrand, the heir of Ashemark, married Lady Domnella Hightower of Old Town. It was a fine match on parchment, all the right bloodlines and borders and such. I can't say if they was happy or not before he left for war, but they were childless, and that must have weighed on them both. Marbrand was gone near two years, fighting in the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion. He was brilliant on the battlefield. Five pages writ just on him in that book you was so sharp as to find for Pup last Sevenmass."

That drew a little smile from her. Pypar had been so pleased with the gift.

"Pypar Marbrand's men would have followed him through all Seven Hells and he probably would have got them out. But he did lose men. He lost a knight that was like a brother to him, and had an indiscretion with the man's widow, Evlyn. That'd be Pup's other grandmother.

History don't tell the heart of things, though. They don't write down that Evlyn Tarly was a decent woman, never meant to harm a soul. She didn't deserve all the ugly gossip and the bitterness flung at her. You see, Evlyn's late husband was House Tarly. She'd gone back to them with her husband's bones, not realizing she was carrying Marbrand's child. She'd had no children from her marriage either, so she was shocked to fall pregnant. Tarlys denounced and disowned her when she confessed to them the baby wasn't their blood. She didn't have to do that, you know. She could have lied, and none the wiser. I always told Pup that, so he would know his grandmother was a fallen woman but she had a code.

Evlyn was the last of her family, the Greystokes, and they weren't nothing more than a long line of hedge knights. She had no one else to turn to, so she run back to Marbrand for protection.

It was a scandal. A man like Marbrand was practically expected to take a mistress, off at war as he was. But not the widow of a fallen knight, his body barely cold. Audra's mother took all the blame, of course.

People started saying Evlyn had killed her husband, a fifth-born son of a knightly house, so she could move up to the first-born son of a lordly house. Every little setback in the war was blamed on Evlyn's bad influence on Pypar Marbrand. He finally had to send Evlyn away, thinking it was for her own good. She was left hiding out in Septs and backwater inns, one step ahead of the war, and the Blackfyres trying to kidnap her, and Lady Domnella's hired swords trying to kill her. Aye kill her." Baelor insisted, in response to his good-daughter's look of shock.

"When Audra entered this world, her mother birthed her in a cemetery, with the help of one handmaid. She had only one sworn shield to stand watch - he watched the Sept they'd been hiding in torn apart by Blackfyre men, and prayed Evlyn would be quiet enough not to give them away.

Then the war ended, and Pypar Marbrand returned home a hero. Hero to everyone but his wife, that is. He tried to come to some sort of agreement with Domnella, but to no avail. Their marriage was just put on for show after that.

Pypar Marbrand took care of Evlyn and Audra, always found someone to take them in for a bit, or leased them a nice little home with a few servants and more than a few guards. I can tell you that Audra's childhood was happy. Her father loved her dearly, and grew to love Evlyn despite the fact that all they started out with was shared grief and a guilty mistake. Audra was too young to know how outcast they were, or how friendless her mother was. She was so sheltered, she didn't even know what a bastard _was_ until after her father died. Marbrand always wanted to do right by his little girl - he begged the King to make Audra legitimate, by royal decree. But that was the one thing the King would not do for his favorite military commander. Punishing Evlyn seemed to be the only thing all noble women could agree upon, even the Queen. Audra's parents hoped that once enough time passed, the King would be forgiving. But they ran out of time. Pypar Marbrand died, with many other fine knights and retainers of the King, when the _Tristos_ crashed on the rocks of Dragonstone and sank in a storm. Audra was only eight years old.

Now Domnella was unleashed. She had Houses Hightower and Tarly solidly behind her. All of the Marbrands knew Lord Pypar intended to make Audra his heir, and swore they'd fight for her claim. But Domnella had legal rights and Audra had nothing. Domnella took six Marbrand boys as foster sons, and all of their fathers forsook their promises on that chance their boy would be named heir.

Evlyn called on some of Pypar Marbrand's kin for help - the ones she thought she could trust. They told her to go to Lannisport and they'd get her on a ship to the Free Cities. Either they betrayed her, or Domnella's spies figured it out. Evlyn was arrested on the docks by the High Septon on adultery charges, levied by House Tarly years ago. Adultery wasn't a death sentence, though, and Domnella knew it. She'd been keeping a list of all the places Evlyn had stayed, and had plenty of witnesses that would swear to whatever foul lie Domnella paid them to tell. There had not been a sorcery accusation in the Westerlands in over fifty years. People had nearly forgotten what a good means it was to purge the outcast and make high stacks of coin as the wealth of the accused was forfeit. Domnella was a master of political strategy, just as her husband had been master on the battlefield.

None of the good families sheltered Evlyn and Audra, remember. It was always a loyal minor knight, or a kind magistrate, or a simple merchant who needed Pypar Marbrand's gold. All were accused of adultery and sorcery, along with Evlyn. There was plenty of people Domnella didn't even have to pay to lie - they saw their chance to take another man's position, or business, or wife if their rival was just taken out of the way.

I won't repeat the despicable things said about Pup's grandmother. I was about twelve myself when that was going on down in Lannisport. It was all anyone talked about for months, from the Lannisters down to the kitchen maids and the stable boys. None of us had ever heard of such things. Got us afeared of sorcery, and every service at every Sept was packed. Everyone wanted to show their devotion to the Seven.

There were a few brave voices speaking up in defense, but they was drowned out. And finally, after spending nearly a year of her life in a dungeon, Audra took the stand for three days and confirmed every terrible thing said about her mother.

It was over. The others accused started to confess and beg mercy. The men were all allowed to take the Black. There was only a few women accused other than Evlyn. They was allowed to become Silent Sisters, except for Evlyn and the handmaid that delivered Audra. They were sentenced to be burned to death."

"That must have been awful for her daughter." Piety said, "I heard..."

"What?"

"That the fire god she worshipped spared her from suffering. That her body would not burn."

"More outlandish tales. I heard that one too. Evlyn was spared a slow death by fire, but not from sorcery. Pypar Marbrand still had friends who kept their honor. There were two attempts to rescue Audra from the High Sept that she knew of, probably more. When the execution time came, as soon as those fires were lit, bowmen killed Evlyn and the handmaid with clean shots to the heart out of mercy. They were never caught."

"What happened to Audra after that?"

"I promised you the story would get better. Evlyn had no family to speak of, so there were no blood relatives to claim Audra. A couple of disreputable Marbrands showed up at the door, but the High Septa of Lannisport knew what they were up to and told them to shove off. Every Marbrand to take the stand had sworn before all the Gods that Audra wasn't Pypar Marbrand's true daughter - they had lost any right to take her. Besides, the High Septa had other plans. She didn't want Audra to stay there after the trial, what with people coming in just to look at her, like a tourney tent show. They needed a small Sept to take her, where people minded their own business and where Lady Marbrand could not convince anyone to put a little girl on trial. Lady Lannister was about the only one powerful enough to offer that, and she always was one to take on a bit of charity. They whisked Audra away to Casterly Rock, and they set her to training."

"Nine is young for a novice."

"Not like she was given a choice. The Faith wasn't going to ever let her go, no, not let a little sorceress loose on the streets. Got to save her soul. Lannisters never took Audra up to the main house - would not expose their children to her, being a bastard and all. Lady Lannister wasn't that showy with her piousness. But she set Audra up nice, at Casterly Sept, in a decent room with a soft bed and a rug, where some novices only got a hard cot and a cold stone floor.

Audra was shut up in that Sept for a year before she got leave to go for a little walk to the aviary to look at the hawks. That was her reward for a year on her knees, praying for the soul of her sinful mother.

I was there that day, talking to the hawkers about what sight hound was going out to flush birds on the next hunt, and saw that sad little girl. She was pretty alright, even in them drab old sheets they made the novices wear. It was those eyes that grabbed you, though. Brightest blue I'd ever seen in a person. I liked the way she looked at me, straight in the eyes. A bit shy, maybe, but not afraid of me. Didn't look down on me, neither. I wasn't used to that from other children. I decided to talk to her.

I told her we had a fine litter of puppies in the kennel to look at, if she wanted. She started following me but she was slow, so I told her to hop up on my back and I carried her.

I put her down in a pen with the puppies and had her smiling and laughing in no time. It was a nice visit. She met my mother, and my mother took a great shine to her. My mother was a sharp judge of character, I tell you. I carried Aura up to the Sept when she started to worry that she was overdue. Invited her back, and she said 'maybe next year'. Next year? Can you imagine?

I told Aelinor, and she was none too happy about that. My mother started plotting. If she could not get Audra out of that Sept, she had to send someone in. First, she said I had to get more schooling to keep the books at the kennels. We servant children got that at the Sept for free by the grace of Lady Lannister. I was thirteen and big as most grown men already. So much bigger and older than the other servant children, I could have tucked the next biggest one in me arm pit. So they put me off with a tutor and I argued with all the Septons. All the Septas and novices was afraid of me, and then all that was left was Audra. So, she got me better at my writing. I didn't mind learning letters from her. I was better than her at numbers already - I got that from Aelinor, my mother was so clever.

Meanwhile, Aelinor had picked out the smartest little hound she could find, and was training her up to fetch instead of hunt. Kept it in our living quarters, trained it to tell us when it needed out, or to do its business in an old pan, of all things, if we was not around. She spent a lot of time on it. Even I didn't know why.

Next thing you know, my mother says 'We're going to service'. Not the servant service, but the proper service with the Lannisters and the knights and the high retainers. Everyone was shocked to see her, 'cause they all think she's some heathen, and she's at the wrong service for her class, and she brought a _dog_ to the Sept.

That was my mother - smartest woman you'd ever meet and pretended to be ignorant as a brick when it served her. She had me and that dog trained up right, though. We sat quiet and prayed. All the time, I had my eyes on Audra up front, praying with the novices. Audra had to pick up and carry candles one at a time as part of the service, and that's when my mother sent the dog scurrying up to fetch them for Audra, as if the dog saw that Audra was lame and wanted to help her.

The Lannister children thought it was the dearest thing they had ever seen, and Lady Lannister took it as a holy sign. She said Audra was to keep the dog. The Septon was all upset. Mother explained that the dog was trained to live inside and showed them.

So Audra had herself a dog, and got to go outside to walk her every day, and had a companion at night. Audra thought that dog was sent from her mother in heaven, or The Mother herself, but it come from my mother.

We were about the only people Audra ever got to talk to. Most small folk was afraid of her, believed the worst about her mother and all. The Septas was nice enough to her, but all they talked to her about was that her mother was wicked, and she had to pray so she would not be wicked, too. My mother talked to Audra about the truth, that her mother and father were together in heaven, and her mother forgave Audra for the words she said at the trial. By the time Audra was seventeen and about to take vows, my mother told her _'Take the vows if you want to. But if you want a husband and children, you don't owe the Septons or Lady Lannister or even your mother's memory your life's blood_.'

Audra said she'd rather marry me, if I could look past that she was crippled and not much for hard work as a result.

The First Septon would not marry us when I asked. I said I had a good position, and coin saved up, and my own mother still alive to help tend house but the Septon did not care. He said that Audra needed to take vows for her own good. He didn't say, but was surely thinking, that I was not good enough for a nobleman's bastard and if I was the best prospect Audra had, then she'd better take them vows. He decided to ship Audra to another Sept, just to be sure she was kept away from me. That was a bad idea, because Lady Domnella never forgot about Audra. Wanted her dead, wanted her tried for sorcery and burned like her mother. Domnella couldn't do anything while Audra was at Casterly Rock, and now the Septon was about to ship her to Faircastle. None of us liked that idea. There were Marbrands at Faircastle, and they was all under Domnella's sway. I didn't know what to do...but my mother did.

Aelinor was smart, like I've said, and she had no fear of the Gods whatsoever. She told me to sneak into the Sept that very night and bed Audra. I said 'twas a bad idea, not to mention three or four unforgivable sins. Mother said to trust her, Audra had already agreed, and handed me a map so I'd know how to get to Audra's room. They didn't want me knocking on doors, asking random Septas if they wanted to be relieved of their maidenhood that night.

So I did it. Audra was waiting for me, not one bit of shame in her. I was with her like we were married already. Snuck out the way I come in. I was a man now, but I was sobbing like a child that I'd never see Audra again.

Mother went to the Sept the next morning, returning Audra's dog. She had made up a story that the dog was sick just before the start of this whole plot, and only she could fix her up. Lady Lannister was there - come to say good bye to Audra. My mother, Lady Lannister, and the First Septon all went to check on Audra, because she was not up yet, packed and ready to go. They all walk in on her, and Audra is sitting up in bed, naked, crying, with bloody sheets.

Lady Lannister rushed in to comfort her and my mother whispers to the Septon "_She's going to swear by all the Gods it was you if you don't marry her to my son right now. She'll say you're a wicked man, been after her since she was a little girl and the first night her God-sent dog was away, you attacked her. You know how well Audra can lie when her life depends on it._"

Aelinor even had the little dog in her arms growling at the Septon, she was that well trained.

Septon married us that morning. Said we was forgiven, because we were young and in love and the Seven know that makes people foolish sometimes.

Audra assured Lady Lannister that she was only crying because we'd sinned. We'd been in love since we were children and had only meant to say goodbye in private, when things got out of hand. Lady Lannister wasn't surprised, considering the reputations of both our mothers."

"That is a good story, Father." Piety said.

"She was such a kind soul, even after everything that happened to her. She never blamed the Seven for the hurt done to her at the High Sept in Lannisport. She taught the boys to love the Gods and pray every day. Her Faith was a comfort to her. You see, for a long time, Audra tormented herself, believing she'd done wrong against her own mother, and the memory of her father. She wanted to be forgiven and from reading the scriptures, she figured out when you want forgiveness, you have to be able to give it as well. So she forgave everyone, even Domnella. She got me on the path to forgiving, but I admit I slid back hard when she died."

"You were angry that the Gods had taken her." Piety offered.

"It wasn't that. I was angry all my life before I met _her_. You just could not be angry around Audra...a little bit of kindness made her so happy." Baelor smiled wistfully.

"But she's not here, and her son is very, very angry." Piety said softly, wishing she had the power to make things better.

"He gets that from me." Baelor confessed. "_I_ taught him to be angry. Maybe I got that from my father and every other man up our line, those who are in our blood and those who spilled our blood."


	10. Lost and Found

Pup saddled his horse and started riding. It was stupid. He didn't care.

In the morning, he was on the other side of the mountain. It felt like the other side of the world. Dawn came. Dawn usually helped him. Not this time.

(******)

When Pup didn't return the next day, Baelor decided he had no choice but to rush to the funeral with Gregor and a small retinue. He told Piety to make Pup follow as soon as he came home. Pup didn't come home.

Piety heard things - that her husband had run into Sarsfield soldiers on the other side of the mountain. They were scouting for bandits and Pup had joined up with them. A thin excuse, but maybe good enough to save Baelor embarrassment. She sent a raven with an open message to her father-in-law at Marbrand Hall.

A large group of bandits had joined forces and attacked a Sarsfield convoy, stealing silver and killing a knight and twelve men. Warnings were sent to all the eastern mountain Keeps. No one knew what had become of Pup and the scouting party.

The Sarsfield scouts was overdue. They were only supposed to be looking for signs of bandits, to select the convoy path. They were not outfitted for a fight and had no idea how dangerous the situation had become. Piety and Lord Sarsfield exchanged frantic messages by ravens every day, and sent all scraps of news to the Marbrands for Baelor.

Three wounded Sarsfield men returned to their Keep with half the stolen silver, taxes destined for Casterly Rock. They said the rest of the scouts and many of the bandits were dead. Pup had gone after the surviving bandits alone. The fight had happened by Blackrock Pass, so they may have gone in any of five directions.

Piety sent a raven to her father-in-law, begging him to return quickly.

The irony of the situation - at war, men died by the hundreds each day and people were numb to the details. One minor knight went missing in peacetime, and half the Westerlands hung on any bit of news.

The next information came by way of the Riverlands. Outposts were being raided along their border. Lord Sarsfield blamed the bandits and begged the River Lords to be on the lookout for his neighbor, Ser Pypar Clegane, a fine young knight with a wife and small children.

Piety organized twenty of Pup's men, consisting of light infantry and a tracker, and sent them to look for her husband now that they had a clue.

Her father-in-law returned, and Piety collapsed in his arms.

The Marbrands sent messages of encouragement and prayers. Tywin Lannister was in Kings Landing, but Kevan Lannister offered to come to Clegane Hall with a hundred men and organize the search himself. Pup had gone missing on a hunt for stolen taxes. That meant something far more than coin to Lannisters - it was a matter of honor and loyalty. Baelor Clegane nearly said yes, saw no reason not to accept the help, but his daughter-in-law became hysterical. Baelor asked that Kevan remain at the Rock pending more information.

For six more days, there was no news for Piety. Then, Tully men found her husband surrounded by the bodies of five bandits, in a burned out sentry post. They were afraid to approach him, not sure who or even what he was. A Septon traveling with the soldiers dared to take him some water, and then took his confession. The Septon told the Tully soldiers that the huge man was harmless, and had asked to send a raven to Clegane Hall, as he was terribly worried about his wife. Tullys had never heard of him, and said their ravens only knew the way west as far as Silverfield. A message could relay from there.

Tully men buried the dead and watched over Pup for a day and night while he slept. His own men, who had been closing in fast due to a flagrant trail of bodies and burned building, caught up with him. Pup thanked the Tully men, gifted them with two of the finest horses he had taken from the bandits, and headed home.

They were so far away, they were eight days getting back, and spent one night with Lord Sarsfield. It was on the way, and Pup had the second half of the Lord's silver with him. Lord Sarsfield confirmed that Pup's family knew he was alive and coming home.

When Pup and his men rode into sight of Clegane Keep, the bells rang out. It made him think of the time he had come back from the war with Piety on a cart. He had never felt so low but was hailed as a hero. Now, it was happening again. He had done things - pushed Sarsfield's men into a fight when they were outnumbered. Tortured straggler bandits for information, and kept torturing them even after they told all they knew. One of the Riverland outposts destroyed had been his doing - a soldier mistook him for a bandit and drew sword first. Pup knew he should have just run away, but he didn't.

Baelor was overjoyed to see him, and tried to joke about spectacular ways to ruin a funeral. He and Gregor had only been at Marbrand Hall long enough to read the stack of messages and turn around. Baelor told him he'd done Pypar Marbrand's memory proud, and cast a long shadow over Domnella's corpse. Gregor, too, was thrilled to see his father. He wanted to hear everything - how many bandits had he killed, how much silver was saved?

"Tonight, after dinner." Pup promised, kissed Gregor on top of his head and sent him off to look at the new horses. Little Lanna Grace silently reached out her arms for him. Holding her soothed him - why didn't he just check on her that night and hold her like he said he was going to do? He never would have left.

Piety was not there.

"Maester ordered her to bed, but she is not bad off, not like when she had Gregor." Baelor said reassuringly. "Go see her, I'll tend to the men."

Pup walked into his bedroom, knowing exactly how he would find his wife - angry that he brought attention to them after all their careful planning. The world started to crumble around her while he was gone, feeding his latest rage instead of killing it. But worse...afraid...she'd be afraid of him again, after he had worked so hard for so long to end that fear.

Piety was sitting up in bed, waiting for him. She'd heard the bells.

He did not want to meet her eyes, but he did. She was relieved, and tired, and angry, but she wasn't scared. She wasn't scared of him, though maybe she should have been. He thanked the Seven for that.

"Is it over?" she asked.

"Yes."

_'Over for now.'_ he thought, but she could not guess his thoughts, and he was thankful for that, too. He hoped that every raging monster inside of him was finally dead, and they would be safe. Maybe then, she would see relief in his eyes.


	11. Family Talk

Nearly two years after the birth of Grace, their third baby was born. The maester and midwife had to set Piety into labor early, before the child became too big. The gamble paid off, for the boy was big enough already, and hearty with good lungs. He looked like her first son, but Piety only saw her husband in him, and loved this child.

"Truth?" she asked, reminded of something else she and husband had come to grow and nurture between them.

Her husband smiled and shook his head, "Sandor."

Piety hated how Violence looked at Truth, like a snake looks at a nest of baby rabbits.

"A younger brother is a blessing, Gregor." her husband explained. "He will be loyal to you, will obey you and will fight for you when he is old enough. Be patient."

Lanna Grace showered the baby in kisses. She was a Reyne in every way.

(*******)

"Got any stories about the Marbrands, Father?" Pup asked while they stood waiting for Septon Daemus to begin baby Sandor's Seventh Day blessing ceremony. Maybe he should have said _'A good story, one that will help me hate them a little less._'.

Baelor and Samson, the new Lord Marbrand, had decided - Cleganes were a cadet house of the Marbrands, but with no claim to what should have been Audra's inheritance. But why dwell on what could have been? If Audra had been sheltered by her father's family, she'd have been made legitimate by royal decree, like her father wanted. She'd have been married off to a fine lord, or the most promising Marbrand cousin. She'd have never laid eyes on Baelor Clegane unless she happened to be enjoying a nice hunt as a guest at Casterly Rock, and he was running the hounds for her. How often do we look at people, pass them, and never realize they could have been the great love of our life, had our lives been different?

"I should have told you the good parts." Baelor told Pup, "You weren't named Pypar to defy the Marbrands. You were named that because Audra loved her father. We named a boy for me, and we named a boy for her father, and I named the baby that drew one breath Vaario Vra, for my older brother that died in Astapor. We always name for love, never spite."

"Vaario Vra Clegane...he'd have had to learn to fight."

"Go ahead and laugh. Your mixed blood family is such an embarrassment - at least there is a story. You and Glynnia are so damned traditional, you name the boys straight from the name day list, and name your daughter what every other family is naming girls that year."

"Sorry Father, I meant no disrespect." Pup nodded. "What did she tell you about him, my grandfather Pypar?"

"Said he liked to put her on his horse when they went hawking, just so he could hold her tight. He read poetry to her, played games with her and let her win, told her he loved her first thing in the morning and last thing at night. He wrote long letters to her when he was away, with little drawings on them. She cried that they had all been taken away at the High Sept before the trial. He was a good father and a good man. She missed him every day."

"What was your father's name?"

"The Thenn? Doesn't matter, we would never name one of ours after him."

"I know, but what was it?"

"My mother was forced to bed him, but no one forced her to have a conversation with him. She never asked his name."

(******)

Pup sat with his father before the fire, cradling a sleeping baby Sandor. Father and son had not enjoyed their evening talks for several weeks now, while Piety recovered and Pup hovered over her and the newborn. He saw to Piety's household duties as well as his own work, and comforted lonely Lanna Grace.

The Clegane men worked hard. Clegane Keep and the surrounding lands were prosperous and safe, when it had been a lawless wasteland not ten years ago. The place didn't even have a proper name when Baelor arrived. 'North of Cornfield' or 'east of Black Rock Mountain', it was called. Baelor recently overheard some merchants discussing the good quality of lanolin and wool coming out of 'Houndsfield', and knew Cleganes had made their mark.

_'Nothing that boy could not do.'_ Baelor thought. Pup was smart like Aelinor, and a born warrior. Maybe not a born leader like Bolt or his grandfather Marbrand, but he was good to his men, earned their respect. Pup was still in his prime, and could be a champion knight if he wanted. He could be the First Knight of Casterly Rock - or even Kings Landing - if only he would turn over the running of this place to someone else. They had trained up or hired the right sort of retainers to do that now. How Bolt would have reveled in these opportunities...but Pup never had that drive to lead others, and certainly never cared about glory. He cared even less about it after he came home from his first war, with that battered girl. He just wanted a nice quiet home.

_'That's alright.'_ Baelor was resigning himself. _'Gregor will be the one.'_

It still awed Baelor that they were all here. He had grown up fatherless, like all of Aelinor's line before her. But here were three generations of free-born men under one roof, _their_ roof. Unheard of for slaves. But they weren't slaves anymore, and never would be again.

"Three healthy children, and Glynnia recovering well." Baelor noted.

"She is."

"You are more blessed than your mother and I."

"I know." Pup nodded at his father. They had both been haunted by memories of Audra's death during Piety's third delivery.

"Maybe time to think about being done with babies. No need to push the Seven for more blessings."

Pup glanced at his father, anticipating a Clegane talk. He'd shut the Old Man down right now.

"We're talking about it. It is too soon for Glynnia to make a decision, but we know what to do when the time comes."

Baelor harrumphed. After the trauma of Gregor's birth, his son and daughter-in-law did not share a bed for over three years. That was hardly the right solution for family planning, not when there were plenty of options. Baelor had kept his mouth shut back then. The war had done something to Pup, and his son no longer talked to him about his every thought and fear, like he used to. That daughter-in-law was worse, practically a mute back then. Baelor could tell the girl had suffered something terrible during the war, so he left her be. He gave them both time, and let them keep their secrets, and things had worked out.

Baelor suspected that Glynnia was one of those girls whose mother never bothered to teach up right when it came to men, and babies, and her own needs. Not a bit like Aelinor, but you could not expect any girl to be as smart or as strong as Aelinor.

_Aelinor, slave-born, stripped naked and auctioned on a block twice in her life, had no shame. She knew knowledge was power, and sexual knowledge was the most important power of all. In Astapor, slaves were not allowed control of their own bodies. They could not even plan babies - that was for free-born. Slaves needed to make babies all the time, to feed the business of making Unsullied. A male slave caught with moon tea would be castrated. A female slave caught with moon tea would be tied in a public square and mutilated. Try to plan your babies, and the Masters will see that you never have another. That was the lesson._

_When Aelinor became free in Westeros, she learned all she could from a few women who were kind enough to teach her. She made the choice to have no more children after Baelor. Every pregnancy was a risk of death, and who would protect Baelor if anything happened to her? They had no one but each other. She had just enough cunning to keep this one child safe, if she was careful. Sure she had lovers, but she did not want another man in her life after Seth Clegane died. She did not want to be owned, and did not want a man that might expose her to the jealousy of other women. No, she took some pleasure here and there, but nothing permanent, and by choice. _

_She was surprised that even in this world without slavery, where planning was allowed, some mothers would not teach their daughters. They let them churn out babies for the will of the Seven the way slaves churned out babies for the Masters. Aelinor could not understand - The Mother made women fertile only a few days a month, one little phase of the moon, so the sky above would tell her if she was ripe. The Gods made the plants that prevented life from taking hold. Why would the Gods do that, if not to allow their creations to plan other creations? She supposed those mothers knew knowledge was power, and wanted power over their daughters. Maybe some women would rather be Master than mother to their child. Aelinor firmly believed 'mother' was the more powerful role. She held nothing back from her son. __As he grew up, Aelinor made sure Baelor learned about women and babies, so that he would only have children that he could properly father. _

"I've taught you enough that you can make the choice for Glynnia, and she doesn't have to know." Baelor began.

"No." Pup gave his father a stern look. He would not make such decisions for Piety ever again. Pup thought, for perhaps the thousandth time, that he should just sit down with his father and Piety and have them confess all of their secrets to each other. Nothing left to hide. It was how Aelinor had raised her family. But Pup could not do it. He could not bear to see the disappointment in his father's eyes.

Baelor leaned back quietly in his chair and Pup sighed with relief. He thought about the many Clegane talks over the years, like the one he had to sit through as a young squire.

_Pup fidgeted in the squires' quarters. The other squires still did not know what to make of young Clegane. He was huge, but quiet and a bit shy. Uneducated, but cunning. Poor, but better equipped than most of them thanks to rich patrons. Low born, but with direct access to the highest Lannisters. His rough upbringing made him seem far older than his years, but when his father showed up for a visit, he yelped and ran and hugged Baelor like a little boy. He was a mass of contradictions, and darkly foreign looking. When Pup stared at two other squires polishing their boots, and gave them a nod to clear out, they did not dawdle._

_Pup had been thrilled to see Baelor, who had been gone a whole year at the new Keep. Baelor had been thrilled to see Pup, but also a bit shocked to see his son, now fifteen, standing 6 foot 2 and sporting a beard. Pup was overdue for the talk. _

_'The worst part about being low born', Pup thought, 'is how base the conversation can get.'_

_He was sure these topics never came up at the Lannister dinner table. _

_'How not to have a bastard.' Baelor began._

_'By the Seven this will be a bad conversation...' _

_Baelor explained that the best way not to have a bastard was to stick with older women, ones who already had a bastard and knew he was not going to rescue them any more than the last lover did. Married women were not bad, either. They'd make sure they never had his child - big dark thing that he was - anything like him showed up in a crib and there'd be a lot of explaining to do. Speaking of babies, pregnant women were not to be overlooked. They still had needs. And ones who were on their moon blood were safe as well._

_'No young girls,' Father warned, 'and especially no virgins. You are on your way up and some servant girl is going to want to catch you, thinking you'll take her with you. You won't. You are going to marry another knight's daughter or I'll give you the beating of your life.' _

_His father also taught him to make moon tea. Baelor conveniently had the ingredients with him. Pup did not want to think why. _

_'In case you get drunk and forget the rules. Make sure she drinks this before you leave. If you mix it with ale, she'll know it's watered down and won't like it, may ever figure out what you are up to and be insulted. You won't be invited back. Use dense wine. It will taste like cheap wine, but she'll finish it.' _

_Then, there was the pleasuring of a woman. _

_'It's like battle ax, son. Sure, your size will give you a natural advantage most men can't compete with. But you should not depend on your size alone. You have to learn some skills.' _

_'God help me.' Pup thought. _


	12. Bolt

It was too hot to sleep. Pup had pulled the mattress onto the cool tiled floor, and opened all of the windows for a little bit of breeze, but the summer air was still stifling.

A restless Piety had brought both younger children into their bed that night. Three-year old Lanna Grace was a long-legged, spritely child. She was the only one in the family with blue eyes - her grandfather called them a gift from her grandmother, Audra. Her hair was golden brown like her mother's and curly like her father's. Baby Sandor was big for a yearling, with chubby cheeks and his father's broad features.

"We should sleep in one of the cellars if this keeps up." Pup whispered to Piety. Quite a few servants and soldiers were already sleeping below ground.

"If it is still this hot when the moon wanes, we will." Piety promised, "I like sleeping under the moonlight."

Pup smiled at his wife. He enjoyed her sense of whimsy, and indulged it. She balanced his practicality.

"I meant to ask you..." Piety began, "Who was Glynnia?"

"Hmmm?" he shrugged, "It was a pretty name. I should have asked you if you liked it, but..."

"I'm not judging your choice. I have just thought...thought that the name _meant_ something to you."

Pup sighed and rolled over onto his back. "She was a nice girl. She was nice to me, and to my brother, Bolt."

"Were you sweet on her?" Piety asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

"No, but Bolt was." he sat up. "I know you don't like to hear me talk up the Lannisters, but the children were very good to us. Their mother and grandmother made sure they treated the servants, and even the children of the servants, well. But when you are the High Lord of the Westerlands, you have no end of knights' children, wards that are little more than hostages, and cousins looking to better their prospects, all under your roof. Other children, especially the barely noble, could be cruel, like they needed to know something was below them."

"But Glynnia was a good girl?"

"Yes, she was. Glynnia and Tristeyne Gefford were what you call 'poor relations' to Tytos' wife, Lady Jeyne Marbrand. They came for a winter, for a better education than they could get at home. The Gefford children weren't much for books, though. They both liked to hunt. Tristeyne went after the biggest game he could get. Father took him and other boys out a lot with the mastiffs, hunting stag. They'd be gone for five or six days a stretch to get to the mountains for that. Glynnia stayed closer to the Rock. She liked riding out in the mornings, on one of them fine horses with a kestrel on her glove. Bolt was big enough to go out with the young ladies when Father was away, handling the little sight hounds to flush out game. Anyway, she talked nice to Bolt. But it wasn't such a nice thing that she did, because Bolt forgot his place. He started talking back. Talked back to Tristeyne more than a few times, 'til Tristeyne put a quarrel through one of the Lannister's dogs and Bolt hit him."

"What happened?"

"Tristeyne lied and said he shot the dog by accident. Bolt didn't have an excuse. Tytos Lannister said Father had to whip Bolt, or we'd all be sent packing. So he did it. It like to broke the old man's heart. Not as though he never took a strap to us before, but this was different. Bolt hadn't done wrong in our eyes - that Gefford boy deserved the whipping."

"I'm sorry."

Pup laughed, "Bolt was the only one of us not sorry! Nothing bothered that boy. He'd have taken twice the beating and still shook it off. Tytos Lannister was fairly trembling, he was so upset to give such an order, and Glynnia Gefford was in tears, and Bolt's trying not to laugh! Mind you, Father was beating him hard. But Bolt was thick skinned and stubborn and it didn't matter a lick to him."

"You didn't say how you felt about it." Piety said gently.

"Oh, I don't remember. All I know is, Bolt didn't learn his place. Father despaired of what kind of trouble Bolt would get into next. It didn't matter, though, because that was the winter fever came through Casterly Rock, and took a lot of children, high and low. It took Glynnia Gefford and Bolt. Sometimes it makes me feel better knowing he died never having learned his place, so maybe he and Glynnia would suit each other just fine in Heaven."

"That is a lovely thought." Piety wondered if perhaps her husband had been the one to learn his place that day, a shy boy that had to watch his father beat his beloved older brother over the whims of a spoiled child. "I'm sorry to bring up sad memories."

"Nah, there's more joy than sad when talking about Bolt, and I like having you to talk to. You're my Glynnia."

He could not tell her everything, though. Some things were better left unspoken.

_He remembered the winter he got the fever. The grand dining hall at the Rock had been turned into a hospital for the sick children. They all had to be kept away from the uninfected, so high born and low shared the great room but their beds were arranged as if by rank, with sheets separating them every half dozen yards or so. Pup's cot was at the end, and the cot next to him had been empty for three days. Bolt was dead. Silent Sisters had taken his body away. _

"What became of Tristeyne?"

"He nearly pulled through. Had a setback, though. He was the last sick child to die that winter."

_Pup put his bare feet on the cold stone floor. He heard what the First Maester had said to the Septas that had been tending the sick, 'All the children who have come this far are expected to live. Praise the Seven and thank you for your hard work and prayers.' _

_Pup knew the maester was right. He felt his strength returning. He was a big, strong boy. Not as strong as Bolt, but strong enough. He stood up and walked quietly to the other end of the hall. Children were sleeping, and so were the exhausted Septas and maesters. Pup looked upon the faces. The servant children, he knew well. The knights' children and young squires, he knew in passing. The noble children, he barely knew, except for one. Tristeyne Gefford. Tristeyne was here, and the maester expected him to live. _

_Bolt had given his little brother a reassuring wink when he was getting beat with that thick leather leash. Bolt was not about to learn his place. But Pup looked into Baelor's eyes and saw tears. Baelor had only cried twice before that Pup knew of - each time that a woman he loved had died. Baelor was the one learning his place, and there was no room in that place for him to be the kind of man or father that he dreamed he would be. Pup knew he was watching a part of his father die. Tristeyne Gefford was the cause of that, and Tristeyne was going to live. He'd be ordering Baelor to saddle a horse, ready the dogs, and fetch his crossbow for the next hunt before you knew it. Pup didn't want that to happen - he didn't want Baelor to ever be reminded of that day. _

_Pup had brought along the pillow from Bolt's cot - he wasn't sure why. All he remembered was that he wasn't carrying the pillow when he shuffled back to his cot later that night and fell asleep, exhausted. _


	13. Breakfast

Baelor enjoyed the quiet of Sabbath breakfast. Meals in the great dining hall were full of activity - all the servants, soldiers and retainers ate together with a rush of coming and going and a dozen conversations at once. Sabbath breakfast was just the family, and maybe one or two child minders, in the small dining room by the kitchen.

Baelor ruffled Gregor's thick dark hair, cropped short just like Grandfather's. The boy ate like a bear - was built like one, too. Two-year-old Sandor was pouting on Glynnia's lap. She had only recently weaned her youngest, and Sandor was not happy about it. He ate nothing - an act of protest, no doubt. The two grandsons reminded Baelor of Bolt and Pup. Too much difference in their ages for them to run and play together like his boys, sadly, but they had advantages Baelor could never have dreamed of when his own sons were small. Gregor was a born leader and a sight to behold, just like Bolt. Sandor would be smaller, but still a giant of a man when grown, just like his father. The toddler was a bit shy, but as loyal and affectionate as Pup as well.

Lanna was the new territory, the first girl born to them and her grandfather had nothing to compare her to. Baelor enjoyed everything about her feminine ways and wiles. Every dress must be complimented by Grandfa' before it could be worn outside, and every little hurt must be kissed by him before it could get better.

"We have time to cut your hair before service." Glynnia cajoled Pup. He had always worn his hair long, ever since he was a boy and his grandmother, Aelinor, had adored his glossy black curls.

"Dothraki only cut their hair when defeated." Pup protested. Aelinor had raised him on her stories of Essos, and swore that though she had been born a slave, her mother's mother had been born free, the daughter of a proud and mighty Khal.

"You _are_ defeated." Glynnia teased him. "You have surrendered to your wife's better sense of style." She would not cut much, she never did, for they happily stuck to middleground between them.

Company had left the day before. Many knightly and lordly people stayed on their way to and from Cornfield or Silverfield, since the Cleganes were conveniently located and known for their hospitality. They had all stayed away at first, Baelor knew, not sure what to make of the family. Rumors that young Clegane had married a camp follower meant proper ladies and even merchants' wives would not cross the threshold. But a few merchants _had_ stayed at the Keep, out of necessity, as the lumber business developed. They told others that the Cleganes were gracious hosts. Dogs did not eat at the table. The modest Lady Glynnia Clegane was cultured, beautiful, and ran a well apportioned house. Soon enough, more merchants, knights, and even magistrates would stop by. Then, entire entourages with ladies and children would visit. Now, they had almost too much company in the spring when people were eager to travel, and the fall when everyone had business to attend to before winter set in. Glynnia had made this place a good home, and filled it with grandchildren.

Baelor remembered nearly ten years ago, when Pup told him he had to marry Glynnia.

_Baelor had hated the idea. "So, you'll have a bastard. I can still find you a proper wife. Don't throw everything away."_

_"It is the only thing, Father." Pup insisted, "A man takes care of his child. You taught me that."_

_It took Baelor two days, but he grudgingly gave his blessing. In truth, he had been worried that he would never have a grandchild. He began hunting for a bride for Pup the day he was knighted. Tytos Lannister was good enough to give out an official story that Aelinor was a member of a respectable merchant family from Pentos, who had sailed to Lannisport on family business, and chose to stay after falling in love with Seth Clegane. Tytos further described Seth Clegane as an invaluable retainer of good character. Everyone at the Rock knew better, even knew about the Wildling blood, though Tytos did not. Those outside the Rock were highly suspect of Clegane lineage, and dark skin was looked down upon in the Westerlands. Tytos could have called Aelinor a lost Princess of Volantis, and people would still have turned up their noses._

_Baelor had not set his sights too high, but still he was politely rebuffed, even among the other new families of limited means. Then the rebellion started, and everything became uncertain. Many people did not know who to align themselves with, or did not want their daughter to be a young widow. So, Baelor sent his only surviving child off to war, unmarried. The loneliness, and the fear of losing Pup, was terrible._

_If Pup had to marry a seamstress - or Seven forbid, a camp follower - to give him grandchildren, it was not the end of the world. Baelor had just hoped for better._

Gregor would have a good match, though. He'd see to that.

Baelor had made a bit of progress in that goal, just last year. He had come back from Casterly Court with a gift from Kevan Lannister - a false pedigree for Glynnia. She was now Glynnia Hathscole, daughter of a minor knight in service to the Tarbeck's, who had died in the War Between the Lions. They could always say they kept her heritage quiet because of the war, but old grudges were passing now, and they even had a pardon signed by Kevan, forgiving the Hathscole family.

Baelor had instructed Glynnia with a few facts about Tarbeck Hall, and her father's sigil and exploits, while she listened politely.

Pup had protested when Baelor began talking to Gregor about 'Grandfather Hathscole'.

"He should be told the truth about where he comes from! Tell him about Aelinor." Pup said.

But Baelor refused, and shut Pup down with a challenge about Glynnia true past.

_'Truth is for the poor and low born. A family on the rise lies. Glynnia understands that.'_ or so Baelor thought. He had introduced her as 'formerly Hathscole' to the last guests, and Glynnia had carried on a conversation in more detail than he coached her. Bit of a liar in her after all.


	14. Sandor

When Sandor was four, and Lanna Grace six, they stood the same height. Piety and Pup called them twins. The younger children adored each other and shared a room. When they were not together, Lanna Grace tagged along after her mother, learning to cook and read and sew. Sandor shadowed his father, played with the hounds, and rode his pony without help. It was a perfect childhood, mostly.

Lanna Grace and Sandor were kept away from Gregor as much as possible. Children of the servants and soldiers were not so lucky. None dared complain to Baelor, whose life now revolved completely around managing Gregor's education and training for knighthood. But they came to Piety, and she told her husband.

Gregor was as strong as a grown man now, she explained. He was becoming too dangerous to play with other children. Baelor had kept modest control over Gregor, but he was getting too old to keep up with the boy. He could not always watch Gregor. They had already stopped keeping dogs in the house because of Gregor's temper, and had to bait poison traps for rats because the kitchen cats all disappeared.

Pup was saddened, but rearranged the household accordingly. He kept the servants out of the family quarters at night and for most parts of the day, to keep temptation away from Gregor. He replaced Gregor's female caregivers with soldiers in shifts, to keep an eye on the boy and keep him busy. Pup thought the men would be a good influence on Gregor. He never imagined that Gregor would be a bad influence on the soldiers. Gregor was the born leader Baelor knew him to be, and the monster Piety feared him to be.

(****)

Sandor lay awake in bed, listening. Mother was screaming at Father in the next room. She was so gentle, she never raised her voice before, certainly not to Father. His parents always had soft words and kind looks for each other.

Sandor wanted to creep into Sister's bed like he did when he had a bad dream, but she was gone. All the bedding was stripped, the mattress taken, even her favorite toy dog was gone. Sandor clutched his own dog. Their mother had sewn them each one out of black velvet. Gregor's dog was long ago cast aside in a trunk. It had a silver belly like armor. Sister's dog had a pink belly, and Sandor's was yellow.

"Three black dogs," Father used to smile at them, "like the banner of Clegane."

Gregor used to look at their sister playing with her toy dog and mumble '_bitch'_, sidle up to her and ask if she would show him the pink part beneath. But he wasn't talking about the dog.

(****)

Mother woke him, put on his boots and grabbed a change of clothes.

Sandor was half asleep, stumbling to the stables, where Mother put him on his pony.

They were almost out the gate when Father ran up to them.

"No! Not with my son!" and pulled Sandor out of the saddle.

"You would have him stay here? After what happened to Grace?"

"He is my son." Father said helplessly, and Sandor did not know if they were still talking about him.

"If Truth stays, he is doomed. He will become Violence, or he will share Grace's fate. Either way, he will be dead to me."

"Please stay, Piety. Stay with me. I love you." Father begged, the first and last time he used her true name. He would not stop her, even though he could. He kept his word to never force her, ever again.

"I forgave you because I never saw the monster in you again. But you kept it close, didn't you? You would not end it when you had the chance, even when you knew what it was. Did you think you would become its master? That it would serve you like a dog? It is not a dog. It is not even human, and it owns you."

Mother turned around, numb, and walked away though the gates of the Keep.

Sandor called after her, but she never looked back.


	15. Aftermath (Epilogues 1 and 2)

Epilogue #1

The Official Story from Baelor

Lanna Clegane died of dysentery, aged 6. Her mother Glynnia, in her grief, retired to a Sept and took holy vows. Ser Pypar Clegane would not have the marriage annulled, which sometimes happens in these cases and was no shame for either party.

A marriage contract was negotiated between Gregor Clegane, aged 11 and Jeyne Sarsfield, aged 7, daughter of Ser Mycah Sarsfield and granddaughter of Lord Petyr Sarsfield.

Epilogue #2

The Legend

Lady Clegane was a beautiful woman who was not really a woman at all. She was a fey that her husband caught. He was raised by hounds, didn't you know, and could catch anything, even a fey. He kept her as happy as a fey can be kept, and had three children with her - two boys, big and strong like him, and a girl, fey blooded like her mother.

Her people called her home but she would not go. They said a price would have to be paid if she stayed. She guessed that the price would be low, but she was wrong. Her fey-kin stole her daughter, because fey were not supposed to live among Men. She grieved until she wasted away, but fey do not truly die. She would haunt the Hall and the Keep and the nearby woods. She would kill - a dog, a horse, a man - each time saying, 'The price is paid, bring my daughter back.' but her daughter never came back.

To this day, people and animals disappear in Clegane Keep.


	16. Sandor Aged 6

Sandor Aged Six

"Where's Brickle?" Sandor mumbled. He still didn't talk clearly, the scars stiffening one side of his face.

"You've outgrown him." Baelor said, barely containing his excitement. "Come see what Gregor bought for you."

Gregor had just turned fourteen, and Baelor had provided a generous stipend to him, knowing it was tradition among the landed folk. The firstborn was supposed to get a taste of managing his own affairs at that age. Baelor's trust in Gregor was rewarded when he saw the boy's first purchase - a gift for his younger brother.

The stableman brought out the mare. She was a beautiful roan with a golden mane and tail. A delicate Dornish Sand Steed, she was not common in these parts and certainly not common among the Cleganes, who kept stocky, sturdy ponies, mighty draft horses, and the biggest coursers they could find.

"She Gregor's horse?"

"No, she's _your_ horse. Gregor wants you to have her. You're big enough for a horse, now, and you can handle a mount that spirited. We've got that racetrack cleared, come take her out. See what she can do."

"I wanna see Brickle."

Baelor sighed. He'd been thrilled that the boy had finally shown an interest in getting outside, and had been counting on this surprise to cheer Sandor. He was disappointed that the boy was unimpressed, hadn't even tried to smile politely, and Sandor had always been such a well-mannered boy. Pup had warned Baelor and Gregor that Sandor did not want a new mount, but Baelor had been eager to see Sandor accept Gregor's apology.

Baelor patted Sandor on the shoulder and the boy flinched a bit. "You don't need a pony when you have a horse like that. Come, now, you aren't a babe. You know we put animals aside, trade up or put down as needed."

Sandor turned quickly to his grandfather. "Which was it?" He could talk sharp through the pain when he wanted to.

"Huh? Don't know." Baelor replied. Gregor had asked for permission to take Brickle, since Sandor would not need him anymore. It seemed like the smart thing to do, so Baelor said yes.

"Farrin!" Baelor called to the stableman, "What'd you do with Brickle?"

The stableman looked at Baelor, then Sandor, then back at Baelor, saying nothing. Damn, Baelor was half hoping Brickle was only sent to the coal mine and could be got back. The stableman's look said otherwise.

"Spit it out." Baelor did not want to fall into the trap of coddling Sandor, or he'd never recover from his burns. He was sorry the pony was gone now, but done was done.

"Gave over to the kennel master." Farrin replied.

Sandor grunted like the wind was kicked out of him. He wasn't a babe, he knew what that meant. Fed to the dogs.

"Well, he was old." Baelor said.

"No, he wasn't." Sandor mumbled.

Rafford laughed. He was Farrin's son, near Gregor's age and one of the few playmates that seemed to thrive around the oldest boy.

"Somefin funny?" Sandor snarled.

Raff's father shot him a look, and Raff tucked his head. "Sorry, Sandor. I wasn't laughing at you. You were right, Brickle weren't old. He put up a fight..." and Farrin gave his idiot son a slap to the back of the head.

"Whud Gregor do?" Sandor asked.

"It was the kennel master's choice. Needed to train the dogs to bring down mountain goat, and that pony was going to them anyway. Seemed like a waste not to." Farrin tried to explain, but his heart was clearly not in it. Pup Clegane had told Farrin to have Brickle brushed and ridden every day, so the pony would be gentle and ready when Sandor wanted to ride again. But Pup reluctantly left the Keep two weeks ago, for a long overdue trip to the lumber camps. Baelor Clegane was letting young Gregor give the orders. Gregor picked the pony's fate - a beloved pet getting chased down by a pack of vicious dogs and more vicious boys. Farrin thought he must be on the only stableman in the Westerlands who wished his Lord's heir wasn't friendly with his boy. Gregor was a bad influence on Raff.

"Hmph." Baelor turned to Sandor. "Cleganes are warriors and hunters, boy. We owe all we have to that, and we have to stay strong to keep what's ours. It's a harsh truth, but it's how the world works."

Sandor glared at his grandfather. "Don't have to like it."

Baelor nodded. "No, you don't." Raff must have liked seeing that pony torn apart by dogs - liked it too much, still giggling over it. Raff was a bad influence on Gregor, no doubt about that.

Farrin led the mare close to Sandor. She sniffed and snorted gently at him.

Farrin knew a racehorse was too much for a boy Sandor's age and so did Gregor. Gregor was getting cunning, though, and figured he'd get the mare back once Sandor rejected her or failed to handle her. Gregor had only made a big show of kindness to impress his grandfather, Farrin was certain.

Maybe something could be done. It'd be a shame to see a spirited horse like this broken under Gregor's whip. Maybe Sandor _could_ handle her, if Farrin trained them both carefully. The boy's scars would not matter to a horse, they only cared about the character of the rider. He knew the kind of lad Sandor had been before the accident. If the boy still had that big heart, and firm but gentle hand, she'd warm up to him fast.

Farrin leaned down to Sandor and whispered."If you don't take her, she will go back to Gregor."

Sandor's brown eyes grew large and thoughtful. "She got a name?"

"No."

Sandor patted her neck protectively. "Grace."


	17. Sandor Aged 7

Sandor's Seventh Name day

Sandor looked out the window. Snow. He'd been born in spring, it should be spring again on your Seventh name day, it really should. Who could get through all of that snow?

"Your mare is fine?" Pup asked. Sandor had trudged out to check on her, to be sure she was warm enough during her first winter. Pup liked that Sandor had taken an interest in the new horse. The boy seemed listless and uninterested in everything else.

"Farrin put a blanket on her. She's not used to it." he kept his nose pressed to the glass.

Too bad winter came when he was just starting to go outside and play again, Pup thought.

"Maybe she doesn't like that gray wool. She's a desert girl. Bet she likes color like my grandmother did. Why don't we ask Ketlyn and Merrida if they can make her a nice blanket of brocade - we've got scraps in your mother's sewing."

Sandor turned away from the window, thought for a moment, then nodded. He followed Pup to Glynnia's sitting room, where she used to sew and embroider. It was exactly as she had left it. Sandor had curiously ventured in there from time to time. It held no special meaning for him - not like the harp at the hearth, or her seat in the small dining room. This room had been for ladies only and he didn't remember playing in there.

Pup pointed to a stack, and Sandor started sorting. He pulled the heavy fabrics, fit for a winter blanket. The scraps were mostly yellow, mother's favorite color. Pup found some orange and umber as well, that would complement the yellow.

"We'll back it with black moleskin." Pup said, taking a bolt of it from a shelf. "What do you want for your name day?"

"Nothin'. Got a good horse. The blanket can be my gift."

"Anything else?" his father asked.

Sandor shook his head. He had everything he needed. Plenty of weapons to train with, dogs to play with. Seamstresses kept him clothed. Septa Halyse knew what books he needed for lessons - Gregor's old ones - and they had them in the library. Sandor refused to pick his fiddle back up after he was burned, he felt so ugly holding it and he couldn't feel it against his cheek anymore. Wouldn't need a new one, or more lessons, ever.

"Your grandfather asked what you wanted." Father reminded him. Baelor and Gregor had gone to Casterly Rock to attend winter court. They'd be back in a month. Baelor had wanted the whole family to go but Father objected, convinced Sandor was not ready for the eyes of strangers upon him. Baelor was insistent, and warned again about coddling the boy, but Father surprisingly held fast. He'd stay home at Clegane Keep with Sandor, and they'd celebrate his birthday again when Baelor and Gregor returned.

"Don't let him get me toys. I don't play with them."

"I'll let him know. How about a silk caparison with our sigil for your mare, for spring? Racing size - I know she's not for jousting. He can have that made in Lannisport and bring it back with him."

Sandor nodded. "He could maybe tell me..."

"What? Tell you some family stories?"

"Could tell me where my mother is."

Pup looked away, "She took vows, Sandor. Her life is with the Seven."

"Halyse took vows but she sees me every day."

"Halyse is a Septa who wanted to live in the world, and teach the young. Your mother needed to go away from the world, and the Faith holds a place for people like that as well. She went to the Riverlands because she needed to accept a different life for herself. Halyse came from the North. It is the way of the Faith, to help them find their path."

"But Grandfather knows where. I just want to know."

Pup sighed. "He only knew where the raven came from. Doesn't mean that's where she was, or where she is now. She only wanted us to know that she is at peace, so we wouldn't worry."

"What makes her not worry about us?"

"She prays for us, son, that's why she'd not worried." Sounded better than 'she gave up on us'. Pup thought there wasn't a day that went by when he did not lie to someone, mostly his own son.

"Can we go to service tomorrow?"

"What, at the Sept?"

"Yes."

"No. Septon Daemus is coming here, day after tomorrow, for your celebration. You know that."

"We could save him a trip through the snow. I don't remember what the Sept looks like. The windows are pretty from the outside but they're supposed to be prettier from the inside, with the colored light coming down."

"No!" Damn, he had to stop taking Sandor to Sept when he was four because he wouldn't stop looking for his mother. _'Just when I think he's old enough to go back, he wants to start looking again.'_

"Why not?" Sandor demanded. "Didn't our family build it? Every boy from the village gets to go to that Sept but not me?"

"Sandor, your mother is not in that Sept! Hasn't been for three years, and is not coming back for your name day!" It was cruel, but had to be said.

Pup opened a package on the shelf, wrapped in raw coarse weave. More cloth, but uncut, every bit of it pink. This must have been the last thing Piety bought before she left - fine linen, satin and silk in Lanna Grace's favorite color. She hadn't had a chance to use it to make the dear girl's next wardrobe.

Pup wrapped it back up and sighed. He should have gone through this room years ago - one more thing to get rid of, away from the Keep. He couldn't give it to a retainer. It was selfish, but he didn't want to see a servant's daughter spinning around in a pink dress and mistake her for his own little girl.

"We'll go to Sept right now, and make a donation." Pup told Sandor, "That's a good thing to do - give to them who are worse off on your name day. We can look around with no one else there, and pray, and you can see the light start to set in the western window. That's my mother's window, my favorite one."

"You want to bring Lanna's dog, too?" Sandor asked.

"What? No. We don't bring dogs to the Sept. Your grandfather tell you that story about grandmother Audra's dog again?"

"I meant Lanna's _toy_ dog. You always give away anything pink when we find it."

Pup's heart skipped a beat, "You have Lanna's doggie?"

"No, it's in Gregor's trunk, with the gray one. I saw it when he was pulling out his winter socks."

Pup ran upstairs to his oldest son's room. Which trunk? There were four. He opened them all, breaking the hinges and spilling the contents onto the floor. Clothes, toys Gregor had not touched in years, banners, prizes from festivals...and there is was...two black velvet dogs...one silver bellied, one pink bellied.

"Little bastard!" Pup was glad Baelor was not here, yapping about how Gregor only wanted a memento of his baby sister. Pup would be too tempted to hit his father right now. Gregor stole that toy - Pup had asked everyone if they'd seen it, so it could be buried with Lanna Grace. Gregor burned his little brother for touching a toy, and here he had stolen his sister's favorite and hidden it away.

Sandor looked on anxiously from the doorway, not daring to come in, hugging that big package of pink cloth to his chest.

"Get dressed."

(*****)

Sandor ran to the entrance and quickly put on his boots and heavy hooded cloak. Halyse kept mittens tied inside it so he never had to search. Father followed, black toy dog in each hand. He threw Gregor's dog in the hearth fire and grabbed his own cloak.

"Come."

Sandor silently followed his father as they headed to the eastern wall and the family crypt.

Sandor had to take three strides for each of his father's long ones. Father was wearing the great ring of keys and it made a jangling sound, like little carillon bells.

Sandor stopped. He was afraid of that little stone building at the edge of the keep. Father didn't notice, went to the iron gate and opened the lock. He moved the heavy stone door that was supposed to take four men to open, and stepped inside.

Sandor saw a light - he understood that flint and lamps were always kept in a crypt. He saw the light move around, and then be still for a long time. Sandor waited in the snow.

When Father came out, he was pale.

"I'm sorry if I scared you. I did not mean to. I wanted Lanna to have her doggie back." he locked the gate.

"Gregor's dog..."

"Gregor didn't deserve it. Didn't deserve anything your mother made."

They walked across the grounds and outside the west gate. The footpath to the Sept had not been cleared, but there was a dip in the snow, easy to follow. Father took the package from him.

"You had a doggie, too, remember?"

"I remember Bumble, but I must have lost him." Sandor said sadly.

"That happens. Things get lost, other things get found. I found something of your mother's - I didn't realize she took it off before she left. I want you to have it. It is your seventh name day gift from her. It is very, very special. You're a big boy now, so I am trusting you not to lose this."

Father handed him a ring. It was a circle of amber, with a flat surface and a delicate flower of crochet gold wire.

"But mother left this for Lanna..."

"She did. But Lanna is safe in heaven with two grandmothers to love her, and all her good memories of her mother. You're here. You need something to help you remember your mother. You were so young..." and Father paused. "Honey amber, like her hair. Gold, like her eyes. Seven petals, for her faith, and a deep secret. This is your mother, a part of her you can hold."

"What is the secret?" Sandor asked.

"When you are fourteen, I swear there will be no secrets between us. I will tell you everything then."


	18. Baelor's Confession

Baelor lay dying. Pup had sent for Gregor, now fifteen and a squire at Casterly Rock, just as Pup had been at that age. It would still be a few more days before Gregor was home, even at a hard ride. Baelor wanted to hang on that long, to see Gregor one more time. He loved that boy, and Gregor loved him back, knowing his grandfather understood and accepted him.

"You will make sure Lord Tywin keeps his word?" Baelor rasped.

"I will." Pup promised. "Gregor will be knighted at Kings Landing, by Prince Rhaegar himself. It will be a great honor for our family."

"Wish I could have seen it." Baelor said. He wished he could have lived to see Gregor married to Lord Sarsfield's granddaughter, too, and maybe hold a great-grandchild in his arms. At least the arrangements were made. House Clegane was growing stronger with each generation. Baelor had planned it from the moment he held his newborn grandson. Gregor was a miracle, the first new life that had come to them after so much loss.

Pup was such a good son. _'Looks like he'll be lost without me.'_ Baelor thought. _'I suppose I am all the family he has. He looks at Gregor like a stranger, and doesn't look at Sandor at all.'_

It was Pup, not Baelor, who had decided to tell the tale that Sandor's bedding caught fire. _'The boy may not live.'_ the maester said, _'If he does, the scars will be severe. Half his sight and hearing may be gone...'._ It was a statement but also a thinly veiled question - should he give Sandor enough milk of poppy that he never wakes?

'He is not a dog.' Pup told them. 'I won't put him down.' He loved his youngest son, loved him no matter the damage.

But Pup was also a realist. If the the high born found out what had happened, Gregor would be shunned. He would never squire, he would never be knighted, he would never make a decent marriage and ally themselves with another family. Pup knew that House Clegane was only as strong as his right arm. Loyalty was not enough - they had to be _useful_ to their leige lord. If anything happened to him, it would merely be a matter of time before their lands and Keep were given over to another House, one with money or noble blood or many strong sons to take vows of knighthood. Cleganes were outsiders, looking in from the ragged edge of the knightly class. Their place in this world was fragile, and his youngest son was now crippled. The future of all of them depended on Gregor's success. Gregor had to be a knight.

Baelor knew Pup told the lie for Sandor's sake, not Gregor's. It cost Pup dearly. Little Sandor would never understand the betrayal, never.

Sandor had brought them dinner and quickly left the room. The youngest grandchild didn't much care that Baelor was dying. Four years since sister and mother had disappeared from his life, and the boy seemed to have no memory of them. Two years since the 'fire', and he hadn't forgotten a second of it.

Baelor had tried to grab Sandor in a bear hug a month ago. It was the kind of hug the Clegane men used to share so often, the kind Sandor loved when he was little. But Sandor pulled away quickly.

"What's wrong?" Baelor asked.

"You're Gregor's favorite toy." Sandor sniped, and walked away.

Gregor wasn't even there, had been at the Rock for three months already. But Gregor had damned near killed the boy over a wooden knight he didn't even play with anymore, had tossed aside. Sandor would never touch Baelor again. Hadn't in two years, Baelor suddenly realized. Sandor didn't just avoid Gregor, he flinched when his father and grandfather were near, too. It hurt Baelor. Both boys were loved. Gregor's hot Clegane temper just got the better of him once, and he was sorry. It would never happen again. Gregor had learned, had apologized, and gifted his little brother with a fast Dornish mare to ride as soon as he was well.

But Sandor's words had troubled Baelor, made him think back to little Lanna and how he had taken her out hawking for the first time, with Gregor and some of the men. He had put Lanna on his saddle, like Audra said her dear father had done for her, and they had a wonderful day together. Gregor had no patience for it, calling it a sport for ladies and old men and rode off. Lanna was dead the next day.

_'It was an accident.'_ Baelor reminded himself, but the weight on his chest had not lifted since Sandor planted the black seed of doubt, and now he struggled to draw breath.

Pup put away the meal and sat down on the chair by Baelor's bed. "I have to confess to you, Father. I did things that I am ashamed of."

"Pup, I know. Things you have done - you did to protect your family. That's all that matters."

"Not all of it, Father. I need to tell you about Glynnia."

"I already know, son."

Pup looked at him, confused.

"I heard the fight, after Lanna died. I heard her blame you, heard why she blamed you... but it wasn't your fault, Pup, it wasn't. Thank the Seven you stopped her from taking Sandor. I hadn't thought she'd do that, not the way she cursed us all, said she was going to end us, our whole line, that we were monsters."

Pup looked stricken. "I didn't know you were there. I wish I _had_ let her take Sandor. He would have been spared ..."

"You did the right thing. Sandor is ours, one of us. He still is one of us."

Baelor coughed and Pup gave him wine.

"I should have told you about everything when I came back from the war. Then you would understand ...Gregor is the way he is as my punishment. Glynnia was right to hate me. Everything that happened _was_ my fault."

"Stop. I know everything about you, the worst, and I still love you."

_Baelor did know. Not everything at first, but he figured it out. His gentle Pup had done violence to some noble woman to have gotten those jewels during the fall of Castamere. He'd certainly raped, and maybe killed, a woman. Baelor could tell that Pup was torn up with guilt over something. But things like that happened in war, to the best of men, and Pup was still a good man. _

_It took Baelor a few more years to figure out that the jeweled woman and Glynnia were one and the same. Glynnia was such a meek little mouse at first, he didn't realize she was noble until Pup left for the Iron Islands, and she rose to run the Keep and the villages better than any seamstress had the background to do. Baelor didn't know she was Piety Reyne, of all people, until Pup called out her name that night. Didn't matter - Tywin Lannister had ordered no survivors. Tywin would have killed Pup and then Gregor and even little Sandor if Glynnia had been nothing more than a swornshield's daughter. Loyalty mattered to the Lannisters._

"Glynnia loved you, too, son. She forgave you. Grief made her take leave of her senses, just like anger takes you away from yours sometimes."

_Baelor did not care what wrongs had been done. He had to protect his family. He waited for Glynnia outside the gate, figuring she would not wait until morning to follow through on her threat to leave. He heard Pup beg her to stay, and the little boy cry for his mother. Saw Glynnia leave by the footpath they took every Sabbath, the shortcut to the Sept. He made it quick. He didn't want to hurt her. He snapped her neck and dragged her body deep into the woods. He took off the amber ring. He had figured out what is was, having heard the story of the lost lioness. Baelor cried when he did it, for he had grown to love her like a daughter. But he loved his son and grandsons more. Glynnia wanted Gregor dead, and she had the power to make that happen. _

_Baelor cut out her heart - he could not leave all of her for the animals. _

_At dawn, he went to the Clegane crypt and laid Glynnia's heart and the ring in Lanna's coffin, so mother and daughter would be together. He cried again, for he had loved that little girl. He would have traded his life for hers in an instant, but that was not in his power. All Baelor could do was protect what he had left._

_Baelor had often thought about confessing in the last four years. Pup looked to the gate every day, like he hoped that woman would forgive him a second time and come back. Seven Hells, Baelor thought she might have done just that, if he had let her go, but the risk was too great. _

_He kept telling Pup that she was never coming back. He had lied that he heard from Glynnia a few weeks after she disappeared - she had taken vows at a Sept in the River Lands and was at peace. Pup wanted to believe it, was relieved. Gregor did not care. Sandor did not understand, and kept searching their own little Sept and calling for his mother until Pup had to stop taking him to service. Soon none of the Clegane men went back to their own Sept. Septon Daemus came to Clegane Keep from time to time, to talk business with Pup and perform rites and hear the confessions of any in the household who needed absolution_. _Baelor never confessed about Glynnia. _

Even now, Septon Daemus was staying with them, awaiting the end, and Baelor would not confess. Septon Daemus was a man of great honor, but too much heart. Baelor could not risk that Daemus would, by word or action, let slip to Pup that Glynnia had been dead this whole time. Baelor could not take that chance. Pup would be better off not knowing.


	19. Sandor Age 11

Sandor aged 11 ghost stories

_'Maybe this is how I should live.'_ Sandor though. _'Sleep during the day and have the world to myself at night. People will not see me. It will be just me and my animals.'_

Sandor dismounted and tied Drift to a tree at the edge of the meadow. Drift was a garron, bred for the low light of the North. He was the perfect mount for night hunting. The moon was full, and there were no clouds in the sky. Sandor did not even need his lantern.

Sandor was hunting with his owl. He'd found Nightsail as an owlet in this very patch of woods last year. He knew to put foundlings back in the nest, but could not find one. So, he had taken it home and the bird keeper, Marcus, was glad to try to raise and train it.

_Sure, owl was unusual, Marcus thought. But it wasn't like the Cleganes were a typical knightly house. No need to pretend they'd fit in with the proper families, as much as old Baelor Clegane had wanted them to. It looked like they might have, for a while, when Lady Glynnia was with them, but those few glorious years had not lasted long. Gregor Clegane was growing up fast and undoing all the good will Pypar Clegane had built up with neighbors and small folk over the last twenty years. They couldn't keep good help anymore. Pup might pay well, but you couldn't put a price on being able to sleep at night, and no servant in that House slept easy with Gregor around. The younger boy, Sandor, wasn't normal anymore. Marcus could not quite explain it, but something had burned deeper than the skin on that one. Sometimes the boy seemed simple, not able to talk, just growled like an animal. Then Sandor surprised him by making a small catapult from a sketch in a history book. He gave it to Marcus to help train the falcons. Worked beautiful, and the birds loved it. There was no explaining any of those Cleganes. _

Sandor let Nightsail go, amazed at how beautifully he maneuvered through the trees. He found something straight away, and Sandor rushed after him.

The lump was shiny black and Sandor excitedly thought Nightsail had caught a mink. But when he touched it, he found it was not an animal at all. It was some kind of rag doll of black velvet.

Sandor laughed. "Nightsail! You're grown - stop looking for training bait and hunt something live! Didn't think there was such a thing as a lazy owl."

Nightsail hooted from a tree. Sandor held up his glove and clicked for him, but he did not come. Sandor was not worried. He knew when he started to take Nightsail out that he may fly away forever. Marcus warned him about that, said the owl had been too old when caught. Sandor would not mind if that happened. He knew the bird would be rejecting the cage, not him. Animals were honest that way.

Sandor turned over the toy in his hands. The under belly was yellow in the moonlight. It was a cloth dog with amber beads for eyes. It looked just like his dog, the one Mother made for him. Could it be? Could he have lost it in these woods years ago? It did not look like it had been outside for years. Maybe he lost it in the kennel when he was little, and a hound had recently taken it here to bury?

"Excuse me." a soft little voice called out.

Sandor spun around, surprised he was not alone. "Who's there?"

"Hello, I'm Aelinor."

A little girl stepped into the moonlight. She looked five or six years old. Sandor was relieved and embarrassed - she had scared him. How could he have missed her in that dress - it nearly glowed. The shiny yellow satin reflected the moonlight.

"Stay back." Sandor warned, then felt even more foolish, sounding like he was scared of her. He wasn't, but he knew how children reacted when they saw his face. Even children who were used to him would turn away, revolted, if he happened upon them suddenly.

"Is that your toy?" she asked and pointed to the dog in his hand.

"Uh, I think so."

"I found it in the woods some time ago. I hope you do not mind that I have been playing with it."

That would explain why it was not rotted away. This was his dog, Sandor was sure now. He held it thoughtfully. And then he remembered..._he remembered mother kissing him goodnight, and shutting the bedroom door after reading a bedtime story. It was a scary story. He grabbed Bumble, jumped out of his bed, and slipped into Lanna's. _

_"Bumble's scared." he said. Lanna petted Bumble and snuggled up to Sandor, their two toy dogs between them. She looked at her little brother with her blue, blue eyes. "Good night." she whispered._

Sandor remembered her eyes.

He looked at the little girl. Her dress might be nice fabric, but it was big as a tent on her tiny frame. Cast off, and no one had bothered to cut it down to her size. The only toys she had were what she might find thrown away. "Thank you for taking care of it. I don't need it any more. I want you to have it."

He tossed her the toy, not wanting to get close and scare her. As he did, Nightsail hooted and took flight. Sandor looked away, and when he looked back, the little girl was gone. She took the dog, though. He was glad of that.

"I'm not like Gregor." he told himself. He had not realized how much he had been afraid that he would be.


	20. Sandor age 12

Sandor at twelve years old

Gregor spat blood. Damn, that little brother of his was getting strong. He hit hard.

Sandor was twelve, half way to thirteen. He'd been fighting with the Clegane Raiders since they left home over four months ago.

Technically, Lannisters and their bannermen were not in this fight. Tywin, former Hand of the King, was slow to take a side in Robert's Rebellion. He'd amassed his bannermen on his borders, but instructed them to wait, and keep both sides from crossing into the Westerlands in search of conscripts or supplies.

Pup Clegane was second-in-command of a large force of southern bannermen, led by his kinsman, Lord Samson Marbrand. They protected the border with the Reach. House Tyrell had declared for the King and thought House Lannister should as well. They were resentful, but knew better than to provoke Lannister wrath and start another front to the war. House Tully to the east was firmly behind the rebels but kept a close eye on their border, awaiting Tywin Lanister's eventual decision. The Lannister bannermen sat ready but idle.

Appearances were deceiving, though, because Tywin Lannister was never one to sit idle. He'd decided to put together groups of raiders, flying no banners, to patrol the border between the loyalist Reach and the rebel Riverlands. Tywin had come to Clegane Keep half a year ago to find the right men for the job, and Pup had not disappointed.

Several years prior, Pup had requested to extend his border into the mountains, to support the thriving lumber business. Clegane men would secure the lands, which were rife with bandits, and Tywin would get his tax on a more profitable enterprise. Tywin had agreed. The added benefit was that Pup's men-at-arm were well-seasoned, adaptable fighters who knew how to live off the land for months at a time. Tywin had a task for them.

Pup instructed Gregor to come with him and the Marbrands, to fight alongside knights. Gregor refused, insisting on going with the Raiders. Gregor wanted to get his hands bloody, and he knew where that would happen. Gregor had been knighted, and had already come into a quarter of the Clegane property, per Grandfather Baelor's will. No one had told Gregor what to do in a very long time.

Sandor had begged to go with Pup to the southern border, though. He wanted to squire for his father. Pup said 'no', Sandor was too young to go to war, and left him under the care of servants while all the soldiers and most of the retainers left.

Father and son had grown a bit closer this last year, with Pup slowly trying to reclaim his youngest boy by taking him everywhere. The betrayal of being left behind now was all the worse. Sandor watched his father and the long train of people and horses and supplies disappear from sight. When he could see them no more, he howled like a dog in pure loneliness. He ran away before nightfall, and caught up with Gregor the following day.

By the time Pup heard from Septa Halyce that Sandor was gone, he was out of reach. Pup was frantic, and a sympathetic Samson Marbrand defied Lannister orders and sent a scouting party to get Sandor back. They guessed that he'd gone after his brother. Pup realized what a terrible mistake he had made - Sandor had the heart of a hound, and like a dog, he'd rather be with someone who beat him than be abandoned.

Marbrand scouts had found Gregor and the rest of the Clegane Raiders easily enough, once they realized they were looking for the most vicious bandits in the border lands. But Gregor lied and said that he hadn't seen Sandor at all.

"Shitty thing to do." Rafford told Gregor. "Your father will think Sandor's dead when he hears that."

Gregor didn't care. They'd taken some losses, including the original leader of the Raiders - not that Gregor was mourning that one - he snored. Gregor needed men who obeyed him without question. Being the youngest, Sandor was made to do the dirty jobs. He cooked, set rabbit snares, repaired weapons, and watched the horses - sort of thing he'd have done squiring for their father, except for the frequent kicks and curses. The boy also didn't mind taking on the dangerous job of messenger to the other Lannister Raiders. Sandor had the fastest horse in the Westerlands, the two-year-old colt of his prized mare, Grace.

Gregor used Sandor as a lookout when they had the real fun - raiding the little outpost and villages that had sent all their able bodied men off to war. Not that they didn't have fights. There had been skirmishes with patrols from loyalists and rebels alike. Sandor proved he could hold his own. He'd even gutted a man the first time out. First battle was always the toughest - two out of five men didn't survive it.

Sandor was finally getting useful, like Father promised. Clegane property was Gregor's to use, he was the heir. Gregor needed useful men. They were wreaking havoc, carrying out Tywin Lannisters orders. Didn't matter what side they hit, only that they stayed undetected while keeping rebels and loyalists on edge, They did, all the while taking as much loot as they could carry.

Now they had a bit of a break, sitting pretty in a village, waiting for word if they were to pillage it or not, and who to blame for the crime if they did. They had plenty of coin to splash around, and had rested and drunk and eaten well for the last six days.

As they sat in the tavern, Sandor started to wear on Gregor. Sandor was whining about their mother again. Did he think she was close? They'd never been this deep in the River Lands - maybe they could ask around at the Septs? Sandor could hear bells in the morning, must be a big Sept nearby, could he go look for it? Grandfather had never told him which Sept she'd gone to before he died, but maybe he told Gregor? Please?

"We don't even have the same mother, you little shit, you're a bastard." Gregor laughed. He knew better, knew they had the same mother, but he loved to fuck with Sandor's head. Sandor clung to a foggy memory that his mother was named Paitee, not Glynnia Hathscole. Gregor liked to tease him because of it. Sometimes Sandor got angry at being called a bastard. Other times, he'd rather be some whore's son just to be that much further from Gregor. Sandor didn't trust his own memories, or anything that anyone told him. It drove the boy crazy. Tonight, Sandor wasn't taking it, and hit Gregor hard.

Gregor was in too good a mood to hit back. He had a surprise for his little brother.

"I got a present for you, for your birthday. Sure its early, but who knows if you'll live to see thirteen? It's upstairs."

He grabbed Sandor, who had bolted for the door. A surprise from Gregor was not to be trusted. Gregor needed Raff and another man to grab Sandor's feet, he was kicking so hard. The boy didn't shout, though. He knew no one was going to help him.

They carried him upstairs. Gregor knocked on a door.

The tavern wench opened the door. She was expecting them.

"That the lad?" she looked at them suspiciously. She'd waited on them earlier and knew the young man was scarred, but he'd kept his hood up and his hair in his face. She had no idea it was that bad until just now. She should have asked for more coin. A lot more.

"This is him, our dog until we can find a real hound to replace him." Raff said.

"Here you go, little brother. Different mothers, like I told you. Mine was a beautiful Lady, daughter of a knight. She went to a Sept. You mother was a whore, worked the lumber camps, shat you on our doorstep and left for a brothel. I found her for you, so you'd shut your mouth. Happy birthday."

They laughed and threw him on the bed, then the three men left the room and barred the door.

Sandor screamed curses at his brother, trying to break the door down.

"You're welcome. You're staying here tonight. Make the best of it." Gregor shouted back.

The tavern wench cowered in a corner. The young man was clearly half mad as well as half burned. She wished her room had a window, she might risk a jump to get out of here.

Sandor finally slumped down against the door, and pulled his hood back up. The wench thought out her options. She'd been paid for the whole night, no one was going anywhere. Best thing to do would be to get the lad to fall asleep, maybe.

"Here, got some more wine." she said.

Sandor looked up, followed her finger to the table. He grabbed the bottle and started chugging. He paused, then brought the bottle over to her.

"Thank you." Sandor said, remembering some manners.

She looked at the unburned side of his face. Not clean shaven, as she had thought, he had no beard at all.

"How old are you?" she asked before remembering that she did not care.

"Seventeen." he lied.

"Been bedded before?"

"Sure."

Probably lying, she thought. This will be quick, then. She took a deep chug of wine herself, then she knelt down on the floor in front of him and reached inside his trousers.


	21. The End

The End

Pup drew short, painful breaths. His horse struggled to its feet, battered by the fall. Pup would not be so lucky, his back was broken, he was sure.

He tried to lift his head off the ground, but couldn't. The autumn sun was blinding him, until a shadow blotted out the sun.

Pup looked up at Gregor. Twenty-one years old. What had Baelor been doing at twenty-one? Happily tending hounds at Casterly Rock, newly married to the love of his life, Audra. Pup at twenty-one had just killed his first man, fighting against the Tarbecks in the early days of the War Between the Lions. Gregor at twenty-one had already killed more men that Pup had met at that age...and killed children. This was what a family on the rise looked like with every passing generation. By The Seven, he wished none of them had ever left the kennels.

And now, Gregor was going to kill him. Just like he killed everyone who stood in his way, or bothered him, or even bored him. Pup had tried to break the marriage contract. He couldn't bear to see that Sarsfield girl hurt. She reminded him too much of what Grace would be like if she had lived. But Jeyne Sarsfield had a dowry that Gregor wanted, and he might as well get control of it and all the Clegane gold while he was at it. Pup had made a bit of coin over the years, always working to improve the land and get more of it.

Pup was not sure what Sandor would be doing at twenty-one, but did not imagine it would be good. Pup had trouble remembering his youngest son's face. It wasn't that he couldn't bear to look at the scars, it was that he couldn't bear to look at the eyes and know how badly he had failed his youngest child.

He hoped he would never see Sandor again, because that meant that the boy would be joining him in Hell some day.

He wondered if he would see his father, Baelor, there. Baelor had kept him from killing Gregor ten years ago, when they found Grace's broken body.

_'An accident.'_ Baelor swore, _'A child that does not know his own strength. He is your son, your first-born son. He is my blood, my world. Kill me instead if you must.'._

Pup had listened to his father, not to Piety, and his world fell apart bit by painful bit each day thereafter. But no, Baelor could not be waiting for him - Aelinor would have found her son even in Hell and figured a way to get him out. Pup was glad that he would never see Grace or Piety.

"I hope to see you soon." Pup told Gregor before the spear pierced his skull.


	22. Sandor Aged 14

Father's funeral took place on Sandor's fourteenth nameday. The crypt was opened once more. It was a big crypt for only three caskets - Lanna, Baelor, and now Pypar Clegane. Sandor clutched the small leather sack he wore around his neck. It held the amber ring his father gave him, but no one was left to tell him the secret of his mother.

The feast that Pypar had planned for Sandor fed the funeral guests instead. Many of the Marbrands came, all of the Sarsfields, and even Kevan Lannister. Poor little Jeyne Sarsfield, Gregor's betrothed, cried endlessly. She'd been staying with them a year, it being typical for a future bride to bring her Septa and handmaids, and learn to run the House before she became the Lady. Jeyne had brought a smile to Pypar, who had seemed to age a decade during Robert's Rebellion. Everyone blamed Sandor for that - running away like he did.

Jeyne hadn't looked at Sandor for the first six months she lived at Clegane Keep - couldn't bear to eat at the same table with him. Sandor preferred to eat at the tavern anyway, where Gregor and his men spent most of their time. But she'd come around - was cordial, even started to get nice.

Septon Daemus read the will afterwards. Everything went to Gregor. Sandor got the four horses he owned outright, his armor and weapons. He'd have to sell Grace and Truefoot and Foxfire - he could not afford to keep them. Samson Marbrand made a fair offer for all three. He'd taken it. Marbrands would be good to them, they knew racehorses.

Gregor had come up to him afterwards, put a comforting arm around his shoulder for show and whispered, "Told you - you're a bastard." Only a bastard would have gotten so little. A second son should have at least gotten the saw mill and some surrounding land...enough to live on...a roof he would own.

Kevan Lannister approached, said they'd like to take him into service. Swornshield paid well enough, plus room and board for himself and his war horses.

Jeyne came up, insisted he take her palfrey as a gift. He said yes. Fuck his pride, he needed a second horse just to take his gear to Casterly Rock. Didn't expect so much as a mule from Gregor.

Gregor was talking to Mycah Sarsfield, insisting the wedding go on as planned, in a month. So much for a decent period of mourning. Sandor was not coming to the wedding, no matter when it was. He said his final goodbyes to Jeyne and thanked her for her horse and her kindness to Pypar.

He packed his clothes, as much as he could carry. He didn't think Gregor would object to that, his things being too small for Gregor and too big for any of his bootlickers - good wolf fur cloak, spare boots, leather gloves. Those cost money, and he had to mind what he had. He took all of the tunics and caparisons with his personal sigil, the middle hound reversed - Gregor would not have any use for them.

He looked about his room and tried to remember when he was a little boy and he had a sister in here with him. Father and Grandfather insisted that he had loved her, but Grandfather also insisted that Gregor loved him and Lanna - he found that hard to believe.

Septon Daemus came up to him while he packed.

"I am sorry you lost your father with so much left unsaid."

Sandor shot him a quizzical glance and kept packing.

"Your fourteenth name day - Ser Pypar said he had things to confess, but his confession was all for you and he only wanted me here in case you needed me. I know it was important to him."

Daemus' words did not help. Sandor remembered the promise, but told himself that his father had no intention of keeping his word. He'd rather be angry at his father right now, it was an easier pain than regret.

"Too late. What's done is done, as Grandfather used to say. Protect what's yours, and right now I will be protecting my ass the Hell out of Clegane Keep."

"Your father was protecting you, with that will."

"Didn't want to coddle me, I know. Grandfather was always warning him not to make things too easy on me."

"No, your father didn't trust Gregor. He told me so. He asked me to give you this." He tossed Sandor a coin purse. It was heavy, held gold, maybe fifty pieces. He had one hundred and twenty from selling his Sand Steeds, just enough to buy another set of quality armor when he finished growing, and eventually replace Stormdown, his courser, who was getting on in years.

"The coin is per year. Every year you come back, visit the family crypt, then come see me and I will give you a purse. Your father worked very hard to arranged it."

Sandor threw it back at the Septon. "I'll make my own way."

"Your father wanted you to go with Samson Marbrand, to squire for him. I heard Lord Marbrand practically beg you to go. He had promised Ser Pypar that he would take you."

"Be a bastard poor relation in his Hall? No. I'll go to the Rock. Cleganes started out as servants there, and that's what I am. I'll go back where it started, not back here, not ever. Use the money to pray for our souls, all four of us Clegane men. Not sure which of us needs it the most."


	23. Little Aelinor

(formerly Epilogue #5 )

Pup woke up in the woods, sunlight piercing past his eyelids. Autumn. The leaves were bright orange, red and yellow. It was his favorite time of year. Herds of wild animals and flocks of birds moved south for winter. The last of the wheat and corn was harvested. The garnet apples were finally ripe, red skinned and dark pink all the way to the core. His mother had made the most delicious pies and preserves with them. Piety did, too, knowing they were his favorite. The cooks carried on with her recipes, but it was not the same.

He must have fallen asleep in the woods while out hunting. It was the best sleep he'd had in years - no bad dreams.

He heard a rustling amid the fallen leaves and looked up.

"Hello." he said to the little girl. "Are you lost?"

She was wearing an oversized wrap dress of pale yellow satin. It contrasted sharply with her olive skin and long black ringlets of hair.

"I don't think so." she replied.

She must be from the Keep, the daughter of a retainer. He should know her. She looked familiar, but he could not place her.

"What is your name?"

"Aelinor."

"What a pretty name. I'm Pypar. Do you live at Clegane Keep?"

"No, I stay here."

Odd little thing. She looked about nine, too clean to truly be living in the woods, and old enough to be talking a bit more sense than that. She did make him think of a young Aelinor, though, except this girl's eyes were golden brown, not black like his grandmother's. One dainty hand held up the hem of her grownup sized dress. She had a love-worn animal of black and yellow cloth tucked under one arm.

"Where are you parents?"

"My mother was taken away. It happened so quickly, she did not know that she could have stayed, too. She calls to me, though."

"You should go to your mother, little one." Pup said sternly, "She must be worried about you."

"She knows I am safe. Another voice said to wait, so I have waited. Mother agreed that I could stay for a while, but she calls often to let me know she loves me. It is pretty here in these woods, and I've seen every season now. Autumn is best, my favorite. I think I am ready to go, if only you would come with me."

_'I must be dreaming.'_ Pup thought. _'If it is a dream, I have nothing better to do.'_

"I'll come with you. Do you know the way?"

"I will when we start walking. Hold my hand, I will keep you safe."

Pup laughed. Bold little thing was more than a bit like his Aelinor. "I thought I was supposed to keep you safe?"

"Not on this journey."

"Then why do you need me?"

"You are my favorite thing. I would not want to leave this world without you."

"I can't be your favorite thing. You don't even know me."

"I do know you. Your voice is the first sound I ever heard. You put your arms around me and said, _'If it is a girl, she'll be called Aelinor.'_ Do you remember?"

Pup had tried to forget it - the last good memory of his life. He had made love to Piety the night before. They'd decided a few months earlier to make another baby. They had slept past breakfast the next morning, ignoring the polite knocks at the door. They made love again, laughed and planned and agreed to tell no one until they were certain they'd succeeded. But Pup was confident Piety was with child, and they would have an autumn baby. It would be the last morning of Grace's life.

This was turning into a terrible dream. He was not ready to remember this.

"I don't have any bad memories." little Aelinor promised him. "I shall have a very quick path home to my family, with no one standing in my way. You can join me."

"Only your memories?" Pup asked.

"Yes." she said, taking his hand. "We are half way there. Look."


	24. Sandor aged 21

Sandor in King's Landing. Aged 21

Ser Varys smiled. "Good morning, Young Clegane, and Seven Blessing be upon you."

Sandor grunted. Creepy, that Spider. Always had a kind word for him. The Spider would love to turn the Hound into a bird, wouldn't he, whispering secrets? Sandor wasn't having it. He hated the fact that Varys didn't even _try_ to offer him whores or silver like he did for the others. Sandor could not be bought, not at any price, but here Varys was bidding cheaper than anyone he'd ever heard of.

_'The Spider thinks I am so weak, so lonely, that a kind word would be enough to turn me for free.' _Sandor hated Varys for that. Hated him.

Varys loved Sandor Clegane. Sandor had been the hand of mercy during the Sack of King's Landing, the only mercy. No wonder - young Clegane was only a boy himself.

Everyone talked about Gregor Clegane and his unrivaled brutality during The Sack. Pypar Clegane had not been there - had been with the Marbrand faction of Lannisters, engaging the Tyrells and keeping them from rescuing the Mad King. Ser Pypar was said to be sick with shame when he heard the stories about his oldest son. He had, until that point, been sick with worry about his youngest son. The story was that Sandor had run away from home during Robert's Rebellion and spent most of that year wandering the River Lands looking for his runaway mother. Sandor was lucky to have survived, eventually meeting up with Westerland soldiers and making his way back to his father. That was his inconsequential story.

Varys understood why almost no one knew that Sandor had been at King's Landing, and why those who knew did not talk.

_ Gregor had lied to his father, Lord Marbrand, and even Tywin Lannister about his little brother - let them think Sandor was dead when he had the boy with him the whole damned time. Gregor had risked the boy's life, exposing him to every kind of debauchery and atrocity, all while people who loved Sandor were looking for him. Gregor wasn't ashamed about lying - he'd done far worse and no one cared to punish him. He just didn't want to share the glory. Gregor's men never mentioned it because they did not dare offend Gregor. Sandor wasn't talking about it, because he knew there was no glory in what had been done, only shame. The mighty Hound would rather have been called a little boy crying for his mama than the youngest soldier to storm Maegor's Holdfast. _

_But Sandor Clegane had been there. Gregor might not have been able to get in without Sandor, who had training in cliff climbing from exploring the family's one paltry silver mine. Sandor had recklessly agreed to be catapulted over the spike moat, scurried up the wall, dropped into a window and fought his way down to open a door. _

_It was Sandor who unleashed hell into that Tower, and once done, he could not stop them. The boy had tried, once he realized it held women and children and only a few guards to protect them. But Sandor had been beaten by his brother and Ser Amory Lorch. When Sandor retreated to a closet so he would not see anymore, he found out he was not alone. _

_Varys had mistaken Sandor for a man, he was so tall. Sandor had mistaken Varys for a woman. Varys was good at a disguise, and Septa was easy - didn't have to look too pretty for that role. Varys was a Septa holding a violet-eyed baby, cowering in a closet. Sandor pulled himself together, put his helm back on, grabbed Varys by the arm, and rushed them all out of the room and down to the base of the tower. He had to kill two of his brother's own men to do it, but got them to a hidden door that Varys knew. Varys had not been able to get out earlier - the guards had been the Mad King's men, and their orders were to keep Princess Elia and her children hostage in the Holdfast, to assure the support of Dorne. _

_The boy playing soldier handed Varys a bloody purse of copper and silver coins, his hand shaking. "May the mother forgive me. I am sorry, sorry, sorry, sorry."_

_Varys didn't know if Sandor was talking about the baby's mother, raped and murdered many floors above them, or the Mother herself. Probably both. _

_"She forgives you, dear boy."_

_Varys had made it to the hidden dock below the castle, boarded a ship with baby Aegon, sailed East, and placed the Prince with trusted allies._

Who knew if his far flung plans would bear fruit, but that act of mercy lived in Varys' heart and gave him hope.

"Congratulations on your new courser. I understand he is a handsome beast." Varys made friendly chatter.

A horse trader had brought the black yearling to Kings Landing with a plan to sell him to a wealthy knight, if not King Robert himself. But the animal was vicious, and there were no takers despite its obvious speed and strength. The Hound had made an offer and been scoffed at. The trader though a few more months of beatings would break the young stallion, and then he'd turn a great profit.

Varys had a little bird tell the horse trader to take the Hound's price, and the difference would be made up by a friend. The trader doubted Sandor Clegane had a friend, until he saw the gold for himself. The deal was struck and the Hound was more often found at the stables training his new mount than at the taverns. A good horse was the least Varys could do for someone who once handed over every coin he owned.

Varys walked down the hall. Sandor Clegane, protecting Prince Joffrey, son of the Usurper. Sandor was the savior of the Targaryen Prince and he didn't even know it.


	25. Gregor's Bad Luck

Gregor's Bad Luck

**Author's note: In the novels, Gregor Clegane suffers from painful, debilitating headaches of unknown origin. Since this story has been speculation on the entire Clegane family origins, it seemed appropriate to put forth a theory on Gregor's condition. **

Jeyne Sarsfield was never a strong girl. After the bedding ceremony, the maester begged that Gregor leave Jeyne alone for a few day, but Gregor paid no heed.

"What good is she if I can't bed her?" he asked. Even when she was sick with fever, Gregor would not let her be.

Jeyne died of an infection six months after her wedding. The Sarsfields asked for Jeyne to be buried in their family crypt, and Gregor agreed. He came to the funeral with Jeyne's shrouded body, her distraught handmaids, and his band of coarse men. He drank heavily, and oggled Jeyne's younger sister and female cousins. He picked the sturdiest looking one, and asked Lord Mycah for her hand. The grieving father contained himself for the sake of his wife, and gave a curt refusal.

Gregor was asked to leave after the internment. He didn't. The food and drink were better here than in his own Hall. His men got drunk and rude and fought with Sarsfield men for three more days before Gregor got bored and went home without a new marriage contract.

Gregor, the last Ser Clegane, was no longer invited to decent homes. Nor did he wish to entertain. But the invitations to tournament were abundant, and he went to them all, large or small.

He neglected the businesses - he was never smart about that like his father. But the lumber crews and millwrights carried on without him - they would not dare lose money and face his wrath. The silver mine did well enough - no one dared steal from Gregor. He wished the coal mine and sheep herds and farmers would go away - too damned many decisions and plans and investments. He ignored them, and they took the hint soon enough - got by on their own or sunk. Gregor did not care as long as they paid their rent and tax to him. He had what he needed. Tournament gold was good, very good, and brought glory to their House, just like Grandfather wanted.

Gregor looked for a new bride at tourney, but his reputation proceeded him...and not in a good way. He resigned himself to the fact that he would not get a well-born bride with a dowry, and looked again.

He unseated a hedge knight who could not afford to replace his horse, so Gregor made a deal with him. The knight's daughter was twenty-one, not much to look at but decently bred. It was like buying a horse. She was worth less than her father's courser, for certain. Gregor decided not to begrudge his new father-in-law the difference.

She fared better than little Jeyne on the wedding night. Smart, she was. Instead of being jealous of handmaids and wenches, she would drag one into the bed herself to keep Gregor happy and spare herself some torment. Gregor almost liked her. She got with child soon enough. He thought there would be heirs, and plenty of them. But Gregor came home from tourney in a foul mood and she met him at the door with bad news about the corn crop, as if he cared. He lit into her - a punch to the face, another to the stomach. He kicked her across the floor to the hearth. Like that, she was gone.

They buried her quietly in the Sept yard rather than the family crypt. There was no feast.

Gregor heard that Septon Daemus sent word to every Sept in the Westerlands to refuse to perform a marriage ceremony on him. Pious little shit - he squeezed plenty of coin out of Pypar Clegane, always crying about the poor. Gregor believed the small folk should lift themselves up, like Grandfather had, and cut Daemus off from the Clegane teat as soon as Father died. This was the thanks he got, no surprise.

Gregor had nearly given up on the notion of marriage, anyway. He hated children. But Grandfather had wanted their line to continue. Gregor understood it was his duty, much like being a squire and taking orders - a due that had to be paid.

The men wanted to see him married again. They knew there was not a woman born who could keep him from drinking and whoring and fighting his way across Westeros. They did not want to tame Gregor, they just wanted him to have a little woman who kept the Hall running smooth, with decent food and wine ready when they came home to rest. That's what a wife was for. But they did not nag Gregor about it. They came up with an idea, once. It happened at a tourney in Lannisport. They took him to a seeress.

"Best one around." they swore. They'd already paid for her. "She can tell you where to find a wife to suite you."

Gregor gave in to a rare sense of curiosity, and agreed to go. His men led him to a tent at the shabbiest edge of the tourney camps. He told them to scatter, not a one of them he trusted to hear anything about his future.

"Six questions." the aged crone told Gregor, "One for each face of God save the Stranger, for I will not answer your time or manner to die."

"There more silver in that mountain of mine?" Gregor asked.

"Smith says there is always more silver if you are willing to dig to the center of the world. Might have asked if it was enough silver worth looking for instead, dimwit."

Gregor growled. It was a stupid question for a trickster.

"Where will I find a proper wife?"

"Two questions there - for Maiden and Mother. There is no woman born that deserves you. Marry again, if you can, from the lowest brothel in Lannisport, but no wife of yours will live more than a year."

"Will I have children?"

Even a bastard would do - he'd figure out a way to get one made legitimate and carry on the Clegane name if he had to.

"The Father says 'no', and you know why."

Her lips did not move but he heard the echo in his head say '_kinslayer_.' Gregor hated the echo - it meant a headache was coming on.

"Name the man who can defeat me in battle." There was a good question. Make her get specific.

"Warrior says there is no man born can defeat you in a fair fight...but when is any fight with you fair? You will fall, though, to truth. Truth is a bright light, shining on your sins. You've tried to snuff Truth out before and failed."

Stupid riddles. This was worthless. Gregor thought about his last question. It had to be something the Crone would know. The seeress was a crone. She'd insulted him plenty and was probably planning to insult him again no matter what he asked.

"How do you want to be buried, old bitch?" Let that scare the shit out of her, make her tell him something useful.

"Hardly matters to me." she chuckled. "I know my end, and I know it is not here and now. That was not the question you wanted to ask more than all the others. I will let you ask again, ask what you truly want to know."

So she did know things. Maybe she could give him one honest answer.

"The pain...feels like my head is on fire. Sometimes I'm...I go blind, it is so terrible. I can't _see_. Can anything be done?"

"No. The needle has worked its way too deep."

"The needle?" felt more like a thousand needles in his head on a bad day.

The old woman smiled sadly, "Little hand still holding her embroidery when she tried to slap you away. Her needle went in behind your ear."

Gregor remembered his sister and what he had done to her...and felt the cold realization. Lanna did this to him, all those years ago.

A needle. A needle brought him to his knees, made him scream in agony. Lanna's parting gift to her brother Gregor, a small taste of Hell on Earth.


	26. Sandor's Bad Luck

Sandor's Bad Luck

Gregor dragged Sandor by the scruff of his collar through the alley.

"Fuck you!" Sandor spat out. He was falling down drunk or Gregor never would have caught him. He'd come to Lannisport with Queen Cersei and the royal retinue for the tournament. The jousts were over and Sandor had finally been given a night off from guard duty. He'd promptly gotten drunk at a tavern. He hated tournament. Too many memories of getting dragged out to watch Gregor compete when he was young, pretending to cheer on the yellow and black, getting stared at by strangers. Gregor won big today, too, just like when they were boys.

Why in Seven Hells was Gregor sober tonight? He was never sober after a competition, usually wasn't sober during one. Sandor was having shitty luck today.

"You're getting married." Gregor insisted.

"The Hell I am!"

"Someone has to keep our line going. You'll have the children. I'll take them in service when they are old enough. I'll have to buy you a fucking bride, maybe a blind one, but it will be worth it. It's a good plan."

Gregor dragged him into a tent and sat him on a wobbly field chair. He looked across the table at an old woman. A very old woman.

"Shit, Gregor, I know you're dumb as a post, but can't you tell this one's womb is parched?"

Gregor slapped him on the back of the head, threw some silver on the table and glared at the old woman. "Can a wife be found for him?"

Gregor pulled back Sandor's hair to show his face and Sandor bit his brother on the wrist. Gregor cursed and gave him another slap to the back of the head.

The crone smiled, "No need to look, she will find him. Not soon, though. She is still a wee lass."

"How much gold do I need to put aside?" Gregor demanded.

"Not even one copper. Her family will give them land and a Keep."

Sandor burst out laughing. A fortune teller! He'd sobered up a bit and had a horrible moment of panic thinking she was a match maker. She was some charlatan who'd hoodwinked his idiot brother. Sandor hoped she'd grift Gregor out of all his winnings. That'd be worth getting dragged out of tavern to see. He might actually enjoy this.

"Will he have true born sons? Cleganes?"

_'Fuck, Gregor sounds desperate, like it matters to him._' Sandor thought. _'Twenty-eight, he was now, in the prime of his life. But he'd buried two wives and had no children. Father and Grandfather each had two sons at that age. Grandfather...he'd be so disappointed if our line died out, wouldn't he?'_

"Your brother's life is twined so thick to other strong lines, it is hard to see the whole of it." the old grifter said, "But there will be at least one son, and a girl with pretty blue eyes. Good, healthy pups, they'll be."

"Will any of my family be at my wedding?" Sandor played along. Let the old bitch sweep in now and try to sell Gregor some sort of charm to ensure he stays alive that long. That's what her kind did.

"Ah, there's a question. You didn't say 'brother' when that's all the family you're supposed to have." she noted.

Sandor spat on the trampled dust.

"Your mother would be there if she could, but she is dead. She died before your fourteenth name day, and before your seventh name day, and even before you were hurt. Only death could have kept her away."

Shit! She was a smart grifter. He'd had enough years at King's Landing to have seen them all, he knew their tricks. Damned good ones almost made you believe in sorcery until you figured out that they were using spies, or had a partner in the audience, or they were trained up for six generations in how to read your every little twitch and breath like your body was a book. She'd probably pulled plenty information out of Gregor when he was in this chair and he didn't even know he'd been fucked. She would get all of Gregor's winnings out of him and then some. Good. But he didn't have to sit here and get played a fool along with Gregor.

He tried to stand up when Gregor pushed him back down.

"How will I know his bride when I see her?" Gregor asked.

"Already jealous aren't you?" the old woman smirked at Gregor. "You should be. She'll be the one your brother won't let you put hands on. That's how you'll know her."

Sandor suddenly liked the old bitch. She was a sport, more interested in pissing on Gregor than getting his money.

"Name her." Gregor hissed.

"I already gave six answers. You know my rules."

This crone had Gregor cowed. Sandor liked it. He didn't remember anyone asking six questions, though. He must be drunker than he thought.

"You cheat, giving more answers than asked for. And you didn't tell him if _I'll_ be at his wedding." Gregor grumbled.

"You won't be." the old woman told him. She turned to Sandor. "You will have doubts, because your faith is with the Seven and she is of the Old Gods, but she is meant for you."

Sandor snorted "I have no faith, old woman."

"You will have faith once more. The Gods have plans for you. It might be easier to figure out their plans if you believed in them."

Maybe this wasn't over. Not if she still wanted to play with Gregor. Sandor did.

"Do you get your information talking to the Gods, or talking to the dead?" he asked.

Gregor stiffened at that.

"Smarter than you brother, aren't you?" she said to Sandor, "But that is not saying much. The Gods. Gods are a better source. The dead don't know as much as they think they do, just like the living. _You_ may ask more questions."

Sandor nodded his head at Gregor. "He and I have the same mother?" He knew the old bitch would tell what she thought he wanted to hear - he was looking for Gregor's reaction to know if it was true or not. Grifters weren't the only ones who could read people.

"Oh yes. Your parents were enemies when they made your brother, friends when they made your sister Grace, and lovers when they made you."

Sandor laughed. "The problem with getting your gossip from a pack of drunks is that they get the story wrong. Grace was my _horse_. Your men found this old bitch for you, didn't they, Gregor? Am I a seer now? I sussed that out quick enough. Must be the Gods talking through me. Or the dead. Oh, yes, Grandfather says to get your money off the table and leave, you're being grifted."

Gregor fumed but didn't budge.

"Grandfather's favorite child. And grandfather was his favorite toy." she said coolly.

Now Sandor stiffened. Still, that was an easy enough thing to figure. Firstborns are always favorites, and Gregor was the type to treat everything like his toy.

Sandor was tired now, and a bit sad, and in no more mood for this game.

"We're done here. Thank you for your prophecy of good fortune, your holiness."

He turned to his older brother with a sarcastic smirk, "It's settled. I'll get married some day and make the babies, Gregor. No need for you to drag some poor maid to the altar again and rape her to death before she can whelp." That was Jeyne Sarsfield's sad fate. Poor girl. Her palfrey, Gip, died recently, the one she gave him when he was fourteen. He'd paid to put the blind old gelding to pasture last year rather than sell him. Did that out of respect for Jeyne. He knew horses that old were passed from bad to worse hands, until they were worked to death in Flea Bottom and ended up in a bowl of brown. At least Jeyne's horse met a decent end at the hands of a Clegane.

"There are horses in some of the heavens." the old woman informed them out of the blue. "Your sister who _is_ called Grace... rides a pony named Brickle. He is happy to be with her, but you were always Brickle's favorite child."

That sick fuck Rafford talked to this woman. The stableman's son, knew them since they were children, knew all their horses, he was the one she got to talk. He turned to Gregor.

"If you don't kill Raff for this, I will." Sandor's voice shook with rage.

"Your brother knows I speak what only the Gods can know. Your horse named Grace is also in heaven. Your father taught little Aelinor to ride her. They knew you would not mind. You know how to share - you gave little Aelinor your toy dog all those years ago in the woods."

Fuck. Sandor ran out of the tent. Threw up.

He was drunk and she was probably burning some herbs in that little tent to drug her customers nearly senseless. He knew their tricks. She got his guard down and read him. _'Bitch. Telling me about a wife and children and a home I could never have. Telling me gossip from my father's own servants to make me believe her lies. Like to fucking burn down this tent with her in it.'_

He'd never told anyone about the little girl in the woods. But that was no holy vision, there was no heaven. Just a poor child scrounging through garbage near the Keep that had the misfortune to cross paths with Cleganes. Gregor and Raff must have found her, found his toy dog on her and recognized it, had what they called fun with her and left her body for the animals. Raff told the old bitch about it, just like he told her everything else and she wove lies through the gaps.

Children...who the Hell wanted them? Not the little girl's parents or they'd have protected her, come looking for her. Highborn were no better - Lord Sarsfield turned over his daughter to Gregor, knowing what he was, rather than lose honor by breaking the the marriage contract. His own father was no better...

At least he'd never have children. Never. Nothing would make him happier than seeing the Clegane line end.

Gregor didn't follow him and try to drag him back. They were done here. Sandor headed for the inn, just wanted to sleep it all off and forget about it.


	27. The Crone

Gregor smiled as he sat in the wobbly chair.

"My brother will do his duty. I'll see that he does. Our line will not end."

"Why do you care?" she asked.

"You don't get to ask questions, bitch. Against _my_ rules."

She gathered her coins. Bits of silver was all she got out of him, but a fool could tell he had more. Why didn't she ask for more? For that matter, why wasn't she commanding a fortune, telling the future for Kings?

"Because the Gods do not want them to know." she answered his unspoken question, "It is that simple. High born are the special toys of Gods, and the Gods are jealous. They would burn me for playing with them, just as you burned your brother."

"I'm not afraid of the Gods, not afraid of Seven Hells." Gregor bragged. No false bravery there, he meant it.

"You should be." she said indifferently.

Gregor scoffed. "You just told me my father is in heaven. If Pypar Clegane is there, anyone can get in. We had a little talk, you see, when I got home from sacking King's Landing. Talked about what we'd done, young men at war for the first time. Had a lot in common, we did. He liked it just as much as I did. I could tell. Nothing wrong with me. If anything, I'm him done right, no guilt holding me back. I'll be in the Warriors heaven, fighting and fucking for eternity."

The old woman smiled. "And who loves you, that will call you to the Warrior's heaven? Certainly no brother-in-arms loved you. None will say _'He watched my back'_, or even an enemy to say _'He fought with honor and gave me a clean death'_.

"That how it works?"

"That is part of it. It is many parts and many paths. There truly are Seven Hells, and every one of them has marked a claim on you, a rare feat. Escape one Hell if you can, only to find another demands their due. There are ways out, but some souls do not find them. Some are consumed with guilt, shame, regret - like your father. Think they belong there forever and don't even try to leave."

"But my father fought his way out. I will, too. I'm stronger than he ever was."

"But not smarter." she smirked.

His father was smart, Gregor knew. Others had tried to make that backwards patch of land pay off and failed. But a good head for business only went so far in this life. Pypar Clegane was foolish enough to try to cross Gregor _and_ got caught. That made his father stupid by Gregor's reckoning.

"You were not surprised when I told your brother that your mother had died." the crone continued.

Gregor shrugged, indifferent.

"Ah, your father was looking for her, wasn't he? Wanted to be sure she was safe before he made his move against you. When he could not find her, you both knew she had died."

"Bitch never made it to any Sept anywhere. I saw the raven before he did. Must have died, probably killed herself. I had nothing to do with it."

"You'd be surprised..." she had no intention of telling Gregor what Baelor had done for him - he'd like that too much. "Those who go before us can be our downfall, or they can be our salvation. In your father's case, salvation. He never saw Hell, tricked his way into heaven. Or rather, those that loved him used trickery, and now he is safe."

"Tricks to get into heaven? How much do you sell that for?" he sneered.

She gestured to the stained walls of the shabby tent. "Look like I care about coin? I'll tell you for free, because it will do you no good. There are pure souls in this world. When they leave us, they are spared even a glimpse of Hell. None may stand along their path and question their right to Heaven. Your father followed a pure soul, a link in a long chain of those who loved him. Snuck him into the palace through the kitchen door, they did." She chuckled, "The Gods are worried about the women in your family - afeared they will be running the place. Women don't have the same love for you, though, do they Ser Gregor? Especially your kinswomen?"

Now Gregor spat on her dirt floor. "Heaven sounds like shit, sounds like going out hawking every fucking Sabbath afternoon. Maybe I'll try my luck in Hell and be running that place?"

"Maybe you will."

"I won't be alone. My brother is coming with me. Nobody loved that little shit. He's got blood on his hands, and he likes it. Hell's gates are wide open for him and he'll jump in."

"Could still happen. He has choices, and he has made bad ones. More bad choices to come. But those who love him still love him, and still have their tricks. The chain is not broken for him as it is for you."

"Why are you telling me this, telling me straight after making me beg for riddles all night?"

"The Gods wanted me to tell you brother that he was once loved and will be loved again. You were just the only man big enough to drag him into my tent. No one gives a shit what you do and do not know."


	28. Domnella's Story

Domnella's Story

Domnella Hightower trembled with excitement on her wedding day. She had never dreamed about and planned on this day like other girls of her station. She was smarter than that. She only ever had thoughts of the quality of the marriage - would her parents pledge her to a man of worth, someone who would love her and respect her opinions and her intellect? _That_ was what mattered, not a spectacular dress or a memorable feast.

Then her parents introduced her to Pypar Marbrand. She had to admit, she swooned a bit. There was some silly girl in her after all. Ser Pypar, the heir of Ashemark, was tall and handsome, with sandy blond hair and brilliant blue eyes. She was blond and blue eyed herself, like most Hightowers, but his eyes were different.

He had read many of the same books she loved, and he was eager to talk about them. She was better read than him in poetry, and he was better read than her in history, so they shared recommendations. They talked in depth the next time they met, engaging in pleasant debate. And he brought her a gift - he had sketched her himself, inspired by her beauty. He was talented, and she was flattered.

She loved him at first sight, she knew, but forced herself to wait until she was sure the deeper love would come. She told her parents 'yes', grateful that they put the choice in her hands. The arrangements were made.

And now she was marrying this man. She drifted through the ceremony as if in a dream, knowing when this dream ended, she would be waking up in her husband's arms.

They didn't leave the wedding suite for five days.

"Waste of a beautiful villa with a pond full of swans and exotic flowers in full bloom." he teased her. But she would not let him leave that room.

Her mother hoped that she was pregnant already, but Domnella was in no rush. She wanted to enjoy having this man to herself for a year. Babies would come soon enough. Still, she did nothing to prevent children. She just put her faith in the Mother that it would happen when it should.

The first year of marriage was blissful. Her good-mother adored her, and gave her as much or as little responsibility as she wanted. Her husband took her everywhere - hunting, inspecting the lands, even training for tournament. She had so much to learn, and her brilliant mind always had questions and suggestions. Her husband valued her.

They celebrated their first anniversary by going back to their honeymoon villa. This time they spent only four days in the bridal suite, and then took in a few sights.

Nothing was different with her marriage in the second year. Her relationship with other women, though...mother and good-mother wondered when a baby would come. They had her sit down with a maester, to be sure she was healthy, and a midwife, to ensure that she knew her fertile days, and a Septa, to ensure her conscience was clear and she was indeed praying for a child. Domnella _was_ praying for a child now. She wanted to give her husband beautiful blond sons and daughters. She was ready, secure in his love and their true partnership in this marriage.

Domnella was as true as the moon. Nothing happened, not even a false alarm. She prayed harder. She talked to the maester about elixirs and the midwife about positions and the Septa about offerings. Nothing worked.

Her husband was not worried. "We are enjoying the trying." he smiled.

She stopped riding horses. It meant she could not spend as much time with her husband, but she had to try everything. She went to seers and mystics and wise women in every corner of the Westerlands. They took her coins in exchange for blessings and spells and noxious potions, but nothing worked.

Two more years passed. She dismissed every cook and handmaid, convinced that they were slipping her moon tea for some cruel purpose. Her husband assured her that this was not her fault.

_'Was it his fault?'_ she wondered. She loved him, and he loved her still, never blaming her. But everyone else blamed her. It was plain to see on their faces.

She did the unthinkable. She stole a low handmaid's dress, slipped out of the Hall, and ran to the market in the city. She knew what she was looking for. She'd seen him before - a tall, blond stableman at an inn. She flirted with him...followed him up the ladder into the loft...bedded him in the sweet smelling fresh hay and pretended he was her husband so she would not cry. She went back to the stable every day for a week, said her prayers, and waited. Nothing. She had degraded herself and sinned for nothing.

She tried to kill herself.

The maesters saved her life. Her husband wept with grief at nearly losing her.

He convinced her that children would not matter to them. They had each other, and a higher calling. Along the Marbrand line, there had been childless lords and ladies. They had been the greatest of all, because the Seven had chosen them to care for the entire family. He accepted their will, and so should she.

Her husband was a good man, not just intelligent, but _wise_. She listened to him. She chose to fill her life with all of the Marbrand children. She adored and tutored her husband's young cousins, did charitable work for the poor, and became a patroness of arts and literature. Her life became full and happy again. She was passionately in love with her husband, his partner in this life.

Then, the rebellion happened. She wanted to follow him to war as some wives did. It was decided that he needed her at home. There were not so young and free anymore. They had responsibilities as head of the family. His parents were older now, and needed her to run the home and enterprises, especially in time of war when supplies must be closely managed. She was glad to do it.

They held a grand celebration of their twentieth wedding anniversary before Pypar left for war.

They wrote often. They comforted and supported each over the great distance. She told him of women's pain, the uncertainty and loneliness, and the grief of widows that she comforted and prayed with. He told her honestly about the brutality and futility of war.

One day a raven came from him with a note bearing a single line 'Ancil Tarly died.'

He did not have to say any more, Domnella knew her husband's heart so well. Ancil was his dearest friend and brother in arms. Like them, Ancil and his wife Evlyn had been childless. They were a younger couple, and her husband had prayed with them and advised them to accept the will of the Seven for the sake of their marriage, just as he had advised his own wife. Domnella wrote to Evlyn, in care of her Tarly good-parents, offering help and friendship. She never heard back.

Her husband's letters became less frequent and less intimate, until he wrote and said that he had to see her again. There were things that should only be said in person.

She arranged to travel with troops escorting a supply train. She was on the road for two months. The closer she came to her husband, the more she saw of the war-ravaged country. She met those who were leaving the front - refugees, merchants with empty carts and wounded men. She stopped often to give aid and meet people, exchanging news and prayers.

Many people knew her husband, and all who did praised him.

When they camped at night, she walked around in a simple linen dress, not afraid to get her hands dirty by tending the wounded and helping with the cooking. That was how she heard the gossip that would never have reached her ears in the fine tents that the noble travelers pitched. Evlyn Tarly. Evlyn Tarly was not in mourning at her good-father's hearth. Evlyn Tarly was sharing Lord Marbrand's tent at the front. Evlyn Tarly was with child.

The old despair came back. But her mind said _'Wait, it isn't true. It is tasty gossip that slides across the tongue. I need to see my husband.' _

Soon, she was close enough that they could get word to each other within hours. He did not want her at the front, it was too dangerous. He would meet her half way. Half way, like partners again, she loved the sound of that.

There was a grist mill, abandoned due to the war, set up as a way station for soldiers. He met her there. She rushed into his arms. Twenty-one long, lonely months apart. He still loved her. He told her again and again. It was thoughts of her that kept him going. He wanted to live to come back to her.

But he had to confess first. He had sinned. His grief at Ancil's death had been profound, as had Evlyn's. He had only meant to comfort her. He was weak and lonely and it was his fault, only his fault. Evlyn did not have his heart, but she had his protection...because she was going to have his child. He was sorry.

Domnella thought _'He made life. He made life without me. We are not partners. This life of parenting the whole family is gone. He broke it, that reason I had to keep living. He broke it to make something for himself alone.' _

"Tell me what you are thinking, my love."

"Prove it." she said.

"How?"

"_End_ the child."

It took a moment for him to realize what she was asking.

"I can't!"

"We can still be the best Lord and Lady Marbrand, protector of the entire family, partners, by the will of the Seven, like you told me, if you would only end the child."

"It is not mine alone." he protested.

"...and if it was?"

Again a pause. It was a question he had not thought to ask himself.

"I would not do it."

She left.

She traveled back as quickly as she could, not to Ashemark but to The Hightower of Oldtown. She would not give up Marbrand Hall, no, but she needed to talk to people she could trust first. Hightower retainers loved her and her alone, served the Hightower family first and foremost. They would see the deed done. She gave instruction, and her father's seneschal knew who to hire.

Then, she told her mother that Pypar Marbrand had thrown her over for a whore, a woman who seduced him and took him to bed with her husband's dead body lying in the same tent. She feigned an attempt to end her life. Domnella was grieved, but this was not the kind of grief that begged for death's embrace, at least not her own death. She wanted Evlyn Tarly dead, and she had paid men to make it happen.

Domnella's mother sent an angry message to Pypar's mother, then a message to Ancil Tarly's mother. Lady Tarly replied - she said Evlyn confessed to adultery, but never said with who. Now they knew.

Domnella's dearest friends and relatives came to comfort her as she recuperated. Her good-mother asked her to return, said Pypar was worried about her, loved her, and begged her forgiveness.

She returned to Marbrand Hall, but with Hightower retainers and ladies.

Ravens that once sent messages of love and support now send missives to and from spies and sellswords sent to kill Evlyn Tarly. But Evlyn had gone into hiding. Domnella had them keep looking. She began a campaign of lies: Evlyn had killed her husband. She bedded a dozen knights. She worshiped the Drowned God, converted to that rapacious faith by a previous lover. She worshiped a fire god of the East. Any lie would do. Domnella sent coded messages to the Blackfyre's about supplies sent to the front lines, and information on Evlyn's last known location. Let them catch Evlyn and hold her hostage, if that would hurt her husband.

Word came that Evlyn Tarly delivered a baby girl. Domnella laughed - at least Pypar still had no son. For the first time in her life, she was glad women were a second class in this world. Let Pypar be disappointed.

The news Domnella could not manipulate was that the tide had turned in the war, and the Blackfyre's were defeated. Her husband was a hero. He traveled first to King Landing, to confer with the King and bring the terms of the Blackfyres' surrender. An honorable man, her husband begged that the King be merciful to the rebels and their followers.

He sent ravens from every way station, to tell Domnella that he loved her and wanted to be with her. He left King's Landing, to return home. A raven came from a way station not on the straightest path, though, informing Domnella and his parents that he was delayed one day.

_'He has gone to see his whore and bastard.'_ Domnella knew, though she could not track down where they were hidden.

Then he was back upon the road home, and sent word that he loved her and wanted her forgiveness. She had that raven killed and baked into a savory pie, which she shared with his parents that evening.

He finally rode through the gates of Ashemark, looking much older and wearier than when she had seen him only six months ago. But he was still handsome, and charming. She loved him so much, it hurt. She wanted to take him to her bed. It had been so long. She thought she could smell Evlyn on him, though, and she became violently ill. Her good-mother burst into tears.

She excused herself, and left him with his parents. They would talk in the morning, when she was better.

At breakfast, he said he loved her and begged for her forgiveness. He swore he did not love Evlyn, and she did not love him. She was as sorry as he was for the pain they caused, but Evlyn had wanted the baby too much to stop it. He did ask her to stop it, for Domnella's sake, the day he confessed his sin and watched the woman he loved walk away from him.

"What is the child to you?"

He didn't even have to answer. She saw his blue eyes light up with love, a love that she would never know.

"My responsibility." he said, but it was too late. She knew it was more than that. He loved his child more than he loved her, more than he loved his own life. The most important thing in his life, and they would never share it.

She thought she had been special, smart, loved, a partner. She was just another arranged marriage, an empty headed woman who smiled and nodded while her husband bedded some fresh young thing.

"She could be your responsibility too, if you would allow me to share her with you."

When did her husband become a fool? Didn't he realize she'd tried to have his whore and bastard killed three times already?

"That child already has a mother. And I am still Lady Marbrand, committed to this home and family. My life is full, but my bed will remain empty. You are not welcome in it."

He was hurt. Good. They made arrangements to split responsibilities, and the home.

Most days, she arranged her schedule such that she never saw him. He sent a written apology every time he could not see her face and tell her in person. She was unmoved.

He asked if she would come with him to inspect troops. She refused. Would she come hunting with him? No. She would not do anything they had once enjoyed together.

He was summoned to Kings Landing to celebrate the peace accord. He did not ask her to go, so she invited herself, knowing she was keeping him from stopping to see his bastard.

She put on a brave face for the King and Queen, as her husband was bedecked with honors. When she joined the ladies afterwards, she was a picture of noble suffering. She embraced Lady Tarly. Lady Tarly was not taking her suffering silently. Ancil's mother told of the pain of the death of her youngest child, the joy when the maester came to her and said Evlyn had fainted due to pregnancy, and the betrayal and desolation three days later when Evlyn confessed the child was not Ancil's. Evlyn would not name the father.

"Or could not." a younger noblewoman sniped.

It was perfect. The Queen was outraged.

"Has my husband apologized to you, Lady Tarly?" Domnella asked.

"Yes, many times."

"I am glad of that."

'_Be brave and noble.',_ she thought. Make it obvious that the fault lay completely with the other woman.

But Domnella felt herself weaken, and grasp at threads. The rude little dimwit made her think - was the child really her husband's? He had been a fool - a fool to bed another woman, a fool to think she would let that bastard in her life. Was this whore passing off another man's child as his? Domnella thought about her own infidelity - it wasn't the same, of course. She had hated it, had only done it for love of her husband. It would have been her gift to him if she had succeeded, because they would have raised that child together. But it was a thing some women did for selfish reasons, to get what they wanted, and Evlyn Tarly wanted her husband.

She had to see the bastard for herself. She hadn't planned to, but now she must.

She told her husband she would see the child, if possible, before they returned to Marbrand Hall. He thanked her and tried to kiss her. She slapped him away. He had presumed too much, he was sorry.

Seven days ride through the bitter cold of winter, and then they stopped at a small village, at a merchant class home. Servants took the horses.

"They know we are coming. Evlyn is not in this house. Only Audra, and her nurse, of course. I thought that would be best."

"You thought correctly."

She walked into the modest foyer. The place was warm, a relief from the cold outside. It smelled like leather and spice. It was almost pleasant here. She recognized one of her husband's sworn shields - he, at least, was smart enough to look worried that she was here. The other servants were unknown to her, but bowed respectfully. She was shown to a parlor with a cradle in the center of the room. The cradle held a sleeping baby, bundled up in furs.

The scene was oddly colorless. Fair skin and ash-colored hair surrounded by white lambs wool and silver fox fur. Domnella felt nothing, looking down at the child she had wanted dead.

_'It can't be his.'_ she thought. _'I would hate it, or worse yet, love it. It isn't his.'_

Then the baby stirred, stretched, and opened her eyes. It was his. Those were her husband's eyes. Brightest blue she had ever seen in a person. Domnella hated that baby, and hated her husband. He gave those eyes to another woman. A woman he didn't even love...who didn't love him back.

"You have utterly destroyed me." she said, and walked away.

She had her horse saddled, and left.

"Tell my husband, I do not want him to follow me." she told the stableman.

When she reached Marbrand Hall, she took to her bed. Her body felt frozen and she thought that the foyer of that little house would be the last time and place her body felt warm.

Her husband returned three days later. She arose from her bed, ready to speak to him.

They made more permanent arrangements to lead separate lives. She would run the household and see to the extended family - the only reason she kept living, she reminded him.

He agreed. He had work to do outside of their home, rebuilding troops, and seeing to the land and the family businesses.

_'And visiting the whore when he could.'_ she thought.

Domnella did not try to kill the baby again, but she kept watch and Evlyn knew it. Domnella liked to have her spies frighten the whore, forcing them to keep moving around. In the meantime, Domnella filled her life with family. Her husband's family always loved and respected her, now they grew to depend on her. All family decisions were hers alone. Marriages, positions, education - she controlled them all, and she was generous, thoughtful, and kind.

Domnella befriended every noble lady of the Westerlands, even the ones she could not stand. She made sure Lady Lannister understood that her husband, High Lord of the Westerlands, could beg off any request from Pypar Marbrand to make the bastard legitimate. Evlyn and House Tarly were of The Reach, controlled by High Lord Tyrell. The request would cross regional lines and risk a feud. The King himself would have to grant the favor in this case. Within a year, Domnella learned that her strategy had worked, and Pypar's inquiries had been politely rebuffed by Lords Lannister and Tyrell.

After another year, her husband told her that he was going to petition the King to make his daughter legitimate. He knew Domnella would not like it, but wanted her to hear it from his own lips. He owed her that much.

"You owe me much more than that. I pray the King refuses."

Of course the King refused. The Queen hated Evlyn, despite having never met the young woman, and the King had enough worries keeping his mad wife calm.

Domnella continued to play the game.

"A shame my husband would seek to put unworthy persons in this Hall, when your son does the name proud." she would say to one father.

"If a girl should inherit Marbrand Hall, I pray that it is a pious, bright girl like yours." she would say to a mother.

She put the thought in their heads, letting them know that Evlyn Tarly had stolen their chances at advancement. And she kept up the lies and rumors about Evlyn.

On her darkest days, she considered another assassination attempt - on Pypar, or Evlyn, or the bastard whose name she refused to remember. No, she had to be patient. She no longer had the cover of war. If anything happened to her husband, his mistress, or his bastard, suspicion would fall on her. She would never be held accountable, of course, but it would cost her power and influence.

She had the sworn shield killed, though. That one had been a retainer before Pypar met Evlyn, so Domnella took his betrayal as a personal affront. Pypar's reaction to the death of his whore's most devoted protector was priceless. He finally realized what a fool he had been, and how very far ahead of him Domnella was in this game. Pypar never spent another night under the same roof with her, or dined at the same table. Good. He should be afraid.

Then her prayers were answered. Her husband died. Died at sea with no body to bury. Perfect. She did not want to be laid next to him when her own death came.

Evlyn had offered up the soul of Pypar Marbrand, and all the innocent men sailing with him, as sacrifice to the Drowned God - that was the newest rumor. Domnella circulated that lie as she took up mourning.

All the Marbrands came to her, to offer condolence. She said she was glad that she had them all at this trying time, and named half a dozen young cousins as her wards. "To better train them to be the future Lord Marbrand. If only my husband had made this decision before he died, but he did not and now I have to get to know the boys and their characters before I can make such a choice, for the good of the family."

They were locked in.

Evlyn disappeared, but Domnella knew where she was going. She would have the whore arrested in Lannisport, on behalf of Lady Tarly.

The rest was too easy. The Queen was a true Targaryen - a paranoid religious fanatic, eager to send her personal confessor to try everyone in the Westerlands for sorcery. Domnella supplied the list of suspects, sat back, and watched the show.

Her husband's name was dragged through the mud, as lurid tales emerged about the happenings in the homes he shared with the whore. His family members testified, too. Domnella didn't even have to ask them, they loved her so much more than they ever loved him.

She watched the little bastard take the stand. What beautiful eyes. You could see the soul break behind them. As a Lady, Domnella was seated before the rabble was allowed to enter the nave, so she was one of the few people who saw that the child could not walk, and had to be carried to the box for her testimony. Broken little hands hidden on lap. Crippled. Domnella hoped it was permanent. The trial was her triumph.

She was a bit disappointed in Lady Tarly, who wept and left early, saying this was not what her son would have wanted. She was very disappointed that the whore died so quickly on the pyre. And disappointed again as the Marbrands she sent to claim the bastard came back empty handed.

She heard Lady Lannister took the child away in the night. Domnella visited Casterly Rock, and asked why a fellow noble woman would do such a thing.

Gerold Lannister's wife prattled on about the innocence of children, and the power of kindness. Why, the Lannisters had a former slave in their employ, whom they taught to worship the Seven, and saw properly married. Miracles were possible, with hard work and faith.

Gerold's wife was fool. Domnella looked Lady Lannister's sons, Tybald the brash fool, Tion the follower, and Tytos - a simpering fool already.

Domnella paid a visit to Casterly's First Septon while she was there. He was eager to thank her for her donation. The girl was going to take vows, he swore. Nothing to worry about.

Domnella checked in occasionally - the girl was still alive in Casterly Rock, a novice. Time flew by and the bastard was seventeen. She would take vows soon, in Faircastle. Perfect. Domnella looked forward to a nice sea voyage and spectacle.

Then she heard that the girl was married. Married! How did this happen? She demanded to know from the Casterly Septon. He reluctantly told her that the girl had been caught bedding a kennel boy in the Sept, and was immediately married to him. Whore - no surprise there. Domnella considered repeating the story with the embellishment of two more kennel boys plus their dogs, then decided not to. She'd rather that people forgot about the girl instead. Letting her husband's blood fade into obscurity and poverty seemed even more satisfying to her than another trial.

She did not waste coin on constant spies, but received a few reports - the bastard had a son by her dark-skinned, half-slave husband. A few years later, and another son. Then seven years later and Domnella's prayers were answered again. The bastard died with her third son. What a relief.

Domnella never forgot a slight, but she pretended to forgive Lady Lannister for the good of the Marbrand family. She gave her a shoulder to cry on when fever hit. Lady Lannister ticked off a list of names of dead children. Really, the only ones that mattered were her good-daughter's two young cousins, the Geffords. That was tragic, even Domnella had to admit. But then she rambled on about the soup cook's daughter, and Audra's oldest son before she stopped herself.

_'Lady Lannister is getting senile.'_ Domnella thought. They were the same age, but Domnella was still sharp as tacks. She hardly cared any more about that bastard's spawn, though it pleased her that there was only one left. He could not amount to much.

Domnella's wards were all successful, as were her wards' sons and by the Seven, her wards' grandsons and the new generation of wards. How Domnella loved the Marbrand boys, and loved looking after them. It was so hard to choose, though. She knew what she was looking for - the Pypar she met when she was young. The one who was handsome and loyal, and unafraid of a smart woman. These boys tried, but they could not be him. They could not be Lord Marbrand, so she found other things for them to do. She would tell one to take the Black, or join the Kings Guard, or enter the Faith. She had a gift for seeing their true calling. Oh, certainly some of them might have been disappointed over the years, but this was the will of the Seven. She had bowed to Their will, and her life was filled with generation after generation of Marbrands to raise and guide.

She looked out at the tournament in Lannisport. She sat in the Lannister box, as befitting her role as head of House Marbrand. Tytos Lannister sat beside her. He had proven to be every bit the fool she predicted he would be, and had taken up with a whore. At least he had the decency to wait until his wife was dead.

She loved tournament. Pypar taught her the subtler points of the events, and she took special interest in the Marbrand men and boys as they competed. She saw to it that they had the best training and equipment that money could buy.

"I see that silver courser you would not sell me, your Grace." she turned to Tytos. "No wonder you could not part with him - you have a Northman taking the field. He needs a horse that big."

"Not a Northman, my Lady, a local boy. That is my former squire, Ser Pypar Clegane, nineteen." Tytos was a fool, forgetting his Houses and their enemies like that.

"Call him over so that we can get a good look at him, please." she asked.

"He's a sharp lad, but I must warn you, he can be tongue-tied around high-born ladies." Tytos replied.

"Don't tell him who I am then, and we shall get along just fine." Domnella smiled.

Tytos sent a page, and the young knight galloped over and took off his helm. The box was at such a height that they stood eye to eye, Domnella and that tall young man on his tall strong horse. He was a fine physical specimen, she had to admit. He had the invincibility of youth about him.

Domnella reached out and petted the beautiful horse, pretending that was what she was inspecting.

Nothing like her husband, this grandson, nothing at all. Black hair with hints of red copper. She heard somewhere that slave traders hated that bit of copper, it meant the breed would be troublesome. His hair was ridiculously long. Did the idiot boy think he was a horse lord? Skin just dark enough to betray his slave heritage. Full black beard, so out of fashion. Black eyes. No telling if he was handsome under all that fur, not that it mattered. There was nothing of her Pypar in him. Every bit of her husband was dead and gone.

"You are a fortunate young man." Domnella said, "You have the best horse on the field."

"And you have the best eyes, my Lady." his smile was half shy and half sly.

"Any fool could see that is the best horse."

"Beg pardon, I meant the _prettiest_ eyes, blue as clear skies." He gently lifted her hand from the horse's mane, and kissed it. She was seventy-seven. She felt her heart swoop low and then soar like it did when she was seventeen - when she first met Pypar Marbrand and he kissed her hand.

She would miss her Pypar until the end of her days.


	29. Evlyn's Story

Evlyn's Story

Evlyn sat in the confessional of the Sept and wept. The Septa had heard her confessions many times before, and knew that was not why Evlyn was here today. She locked the doors to give Evlyn some privacy.

Evlyn had left her baby in the house with Domnella Marbrand. Daxon was there. He'd keep Audra safe, she kept telling herself. He had kept Audra safe before she was born. Daxon had been the one to warn Pypar about Domnella. He'd been sure she'd sent killers after Evlyn. Pypar said 'no', he knew his wife. She was a decent woman - angry, hurt, but not a murderess. It was Blackfyres. That Targaryen blood made them mad, one of them was behind this.

Daxon thought Pypar Marbrand didn't know his wife any more.

"All that love has to go somewhere." Daxon would say, "Usually goes to hate." He should know, he'd been at war his whole life starting with his feuding parents.

What if Evlyn had left her child with a woman with a murderous heart? She had to trust that Daxon was wrong, or that Daxon would stop Domnella, that or Pypar would stop her. But then her mind would be comforted only long enough to turn to the other thought - what if Lady Marbrand picked up Audra and took her? What if Evlyn never got Audra back? Pypar promised that would not happen. He wanted his wife to care for Audra, but they would not steal her, he swore it. But how much easier would Pypar's life be if his wife embraced Audra, loved her, and agreed to raise her like the child they never had? Wife and daughter and parents all under one roof with him? Pypar was an honorable man, but this was a temptation few could resist.

Evlyn didn't think her child would be there when she went back to the house. She was sure of it.

Why had she agreed? Because Pypar had asked her. She knew the burden she had placed on him. She had sullied his honor through her weakness and selfishness. She had lost Ancil due to war but Pypar had lost Domnella due to Evlyn's sin. She had to do what she could to give Pypar his wife back. He loved Domnella so much. Maybe she _should _give Audra to them...it was a painful thought.

Evlyn had no one else in her life but her baby. He father had been a poor knight named Greystoke, who died in service to the Tarlys. Lord and Lady Tarly gladly took her in, and raised her as their daughter in that happy, jovial house full of boys. It was expected that she would marry Ancil, their youngest son and her dearest friend since childhood. The young couple would not have much, but they would have each other and more Tarly children for the big house. But there were no children. Evlyn's womanhood was not like most, she was unpredictable and racked with pain on her moon blood, when it did come. So many times, she had thought she was pregnant, but it wasn't the case. Maesters put her on moon tea all of the time, and that eased her symptoms but meant no chance of children. Maybe that was for the best, leaving them to devote themselves to service of House Tarly.

Evlyn's husband and brothers went to war. Great knights all, they answering the King's call to fight the Blackfyre rebels. Evlyn went with Ancil. It made sense, since she had no children to care for. She made living on the front lines a bit easier on her husband, and the Tarly men who had been assigned to Lord Marbrand.

Pypar made a favorable impression at their first meeting. He became a great friend to Ancil. The men would talk and play cyvasse in their spare time, and Pypar prayed with them often. He helped them come to greater peace about the Seven's plans for them.

When Ancil was wounded in their worst battle, where so many good men died, Pypar Marbrand came through the hospital tents and spoke to every man. He personally wrote letters of condolence to every grieving family. Evlyn knew because she helped pen some of them for him, allowing him to talk freely. This was something Ancil had done for Pypar, as an aide, so Evlyn did it instead.

Evlyn was so busy helping where she could, and supplies were so short, she hadn't taken moon tea in who knew how long. But her time was not as bad as when she was younger. She thought she might want to try for a child after the war. Ancil was going to live, he would be back in their tent in a few more days, the maester promised.

But then the hospital tents were overrun and set on fire in a daring night raid. Ancil was gone, along with so many others.

Pypar blamed himself, cursed himself for not putting enough resources in the rear to protect the wounded. He gave the Blackfyres too much credit for honor. Now, he had to write letters to the families of the fallen. Men survived battle only to be burned alive in cots - these were the most difficult letters he ever had to write. Evlyn asked to help him, to keep busy, and he poured out his heart's guilt and misery. The next name on the list was Ancil's parents.

Evlyn put her arms around Pypar, said it was not his fault. He held her to comfort her. They didn't know what took control of their bodies, but they made love in his tent and the rest of the world disappeared for one night.

They could not look at each other in the morning, these two who had been dear friends and once regarded each other with the upmost respect.

Evlyn left later that day as planned, with a convoy, taking Ancil's body home. Two of his brothers escorted her, Francil and Joryn, while Braedyn would stay as Pypar's new second in command.

She barely remembered the journey home, or the funeral. She asked to be kept busy and helped to prepare and pack medical supplies all day long. She was tired, sickly, and grieving. She had no moon blood but she expected none, that was normal for her in times of stress.

One night, she fainted at the dinner table.

Evlyn woke up in bed. Her mother-in-law joyfully told her that she was with child. Evlyn cried bitterly and said that could not be, the maester was wrong. She stayed in bed for two more days, grieving once more for the children she and Ancil never had. Then she felt a flutter she never felt before. The maester was not wrong. She was with child... but it could not be Ancil's. They hadn't been intimate in those few weeks before he died, not since he was wounded.

It was Pypar Marbrand's baby. She was sick with shame and fear.

A part of her thought to lie. Her in-laws were so happy, she could pretend this was Ancil's child and be taken care of. She wished it was Ancil's, but it wasn't. The Tarlys were so good to her, she could not lie to them.

She told Ancil's parents and brothers that she was with child, but it wasn't Ancil's. Her father-in-law told her to leave before he killed her.

One of Ancil's brothers rushed her to her room long enough to pack some clothes and toiletries, while another saddled a horse. He cursed her the whole time, but gave her a bag of silver, probably all he had. "Get out. I won't have a woman's blood on my father's hands."

She didn't know where to go. This was her home, her family. What had possessed her to tell the truth? She had never been alone before, she did not even know how to request a room at an inn, and spent her first night on the run sleeping in a ditch, curled up by her horse for warmth.

She went to the nearest Sept, and asked to join the next group of Silent Sisters heading to the front. She was allowed to stay, and then travel with them. It took three weeks to reach the front lines of the war.

She knew who to talk to and what to say to be allowed access to the tents of the military commanders. Pypar was not expecting her, surprised when his squire announced her and lead her in.

He was please to see her, or so he said, and asked if her brothers-in-law were with her.

Evlyn explained that they were not. She asked to speak with him privately and he frowned, displeased. But he sent away his squire, aide, and sworn shields.

She told him she was with child. She did not have to tell him it was his, why else would she be here?

He sat down, stunned. "Do the Tarlys know?"

"Not about you."

Pypar knew Evlyn had no place else to go. It was understood that he would take care of her. It was his duty. But she knew he had wept bitterly over this as soon as she left the tent. There would be no escaping the loss of his honor.

He partitioned his tent and had a field cot brought in for Evlyn. He found a young soldier's widow, trained as a nurse, to be Evlyn's handmaid and companion.

He had no choice but to tell his wife, and soon. Evlyn had no business here, and she would be showing soon. People were already gossiping.

Evlyn offered to write to Domnella, to take full blame and apologize. Pypar said 'no', she was a stranger. He knew his wife. Evlyn only knew of her. Domnella Marbrand was a legendary beauty, an inspiration to artists and poets. But what always amazed people most was how inconsequential her beauty was to her. She had no vanity about her looks. She preferred to be known as intelligent, witty, and generous. Evlyn prayed that a woman as noble-hearted as Domnella would see her way to forgive her husband.

Pypar Marbrand came back from that first meeting with Domnella paler than if he returned from a losing battle.

He asked Evlyn how much she wanted to have this baby. She was nearly six months along.

"I know I am selfish, but I will never have another child. I want this baby."

"But you could still have other children. You know now that you are not barren. You are young enough - you can marry again. I will find you someone, and give you enough gold that you would have a good life with no worries. If you would end it for me. My wife...she is devastated. I love her. I can't think of living without her, and the life we share is childless, devoted to each other."

"I'm sorry." Evlyn sobbed. "You do not know how much I wish I had lied, or died, or any number of other choices that did not hurt you or your Lady wife. I can go away and you will never hear from me again, but I won't give up the baby. Please don't ask me again." She was so racked with guilt, she thought she might say yes if he did.

He did not ask again. But he did not want the child. He had never wanted the child, Evlyn knew. His honor demanded he help Evlyn, and he did. They were no longer friends, he did not respect her. They made plans that she would leave for Pentos shortly after the baby was born.

Within weeks, Pypar had to send her away for her own safety. The war was creeping closer, and all of the wives were long gone, and then all the camp followers had left. That was what Evlyn was now, the last camp follower to leave. She wished Pypar had agreed to send her away sooner, she knew she was a distraction, but he had hesitated. He had not wanted to impose on any of his friends and family, knowing how much they also loved and respected Domnella.

Pypar put her on the road with four sworn shields, Bibia the handmaid, and a midwife in case the baby came early. He thought she would be safely to a Marbrand kinsman in the Riverlands in two weeks. Neither Evlyn nor Pypar knew how perilous the next two months of her life would be, on the run, trapped a war zone. They had no idea men intent on murder were already hunting Evlyn, or that the Blackfyres had been told that there was a valuable hostage for the taking if they could find Pypar Marbrand's pregnant mistress.

They huddled with retreating wounded soldiers, fought off bandits, and shared what little they had with anyone willing to give them shelter for a night. Their coins were nearly worthless in this war ravaged land, a brand telling whose side you were on. Trade was the only currency and they gave up the horses one by one in exchange for food and shelter. Three of the sworn shields were killed, and the midwife refused to go further with them as it became obvious they were not like the others refugees - they were being hunted. There was no way to get word to Pypar that they were in trouble, and nothing he could have done for them if he knew. Roads and bridges changed hands every few days as the fighting became more and more desperate.

Daxon found a remote Sept, packed like pilchards with small folk, and they were not turned away. The Septa reluctantly asked for their last horse, and Daxon gave it to them on the promise they would be hidden away from the others. The Septa agreed, and then slaughtered their horse so that the people would have something to eat that night.

Even that holy place was not safe, as it was overrun by Blackfyre men the next night. The Septa knew immediately that she had let trouble in with the three strangers, and rushed them to a crypt in the cemetery while everyone else was ordered to stand in the snow and be inspected. The men were looking for a pregnant woman with hair the color of fine ash. None had seen her but the Septa, and she wasn't talking.

Evlyn gave birth that night, in darkness and in silence. She was sure the baby had been born dead, because it did not cry. But then Bibia kissed her cheek and put the wet, squirming baby on her chest. They curled up together for warmth, and all fell asleep in the crypt. Daxon let them out in the morning, surprised to see the baby had lived.

He laughed that she must have thought she was still in the womb, under the circumstances.

Evlyn told them the baby was Audra, named after her own mother.

Then, the war ended. Overnight, supplies came in. The small folk returned to their homes. The Septa kept Evlyn, Bibia, Audra and Daxon for two weeks, until they spotted an actual carriage and flagged it down. This time, their coins were worth something. They paid for a ride to an inn, and sent a coded message to Pypar Marbrand.

Pypar was shocked that they were so close, that they had barely left the font. He promised to come to them as soon as he could. Evlyn wrote that she was ready to leave Westeros forever, and live in Pentos under an assumed name. Pypar would give her a modest stipend, to support herself and the child. She told him that she had a girl.

Pypar was instructed to go to the Sept where Audra had been born, reward the Septa for her kindness, and wait. Daxon met him there and brought him to the inn under cover of night, with none of his retinue. Daxon did not want Domnella to know where they were.

Pypar did not think the caution necessary, but he would never argue with Daxon, not after he heard of the narrow escapes and fights that had transpired in the last three months.

Pypar told Evlyn she looked well. She lied back, and told him he also looked well. All pleasantries aside, they talked business. They agreed that she would travel with a modest amount of coin and Pypar would put funds in the Iron Bank for her to withdraw as needed. That was safest. She was relieved when Pypar volunteered that Daxon should go with her for protection. She thought it would have been too selfish of her to ask, but there was no one else she could ever trust as much. They planned the dates, the locations, and trusted persons who would relay messages during the trip. There was one last matter to attend.

"May I see her?" Pypar asked.

"If you wish it." Evlyn supposed honor demanded he look upon the child once, or perhaps he was curious. She could not imagine how any man felt in this situation. Bibia was summoned from the adjacent room and brought Audra, for Lord Marbrand's inspection.

Audra was four weeks old. Born in early winter, she hadn't yet seen true sunlight in her little life, and her skin seemed to show it - she was white, not a healthy pink. She had softly curling wisps of her mother's strange, ash gray hair. People often remarked that Evlyn was colorless, even her eyes were grey. In Audra's case, the lack of other colors brought attention to the pure bright blue of her eyes. She had her father's eyes.

Pypar picked up his daughter and held her. Years of experience holding the babies of his extended family made him comfortable handling a newborn. He stared quietly at his daughter while Evlyn was left to wonder what he was thinking.

Daxon shook his head and interrupted the reverie, "We should be getting on, Ser, I will take you back to your men."

"I don't want you to go yet." Pypar told Evlyn, "Wait, please. Let me talk to my wife."

_'To what purpose?'_ Evlyn though, but kept her worries to herself. She agreed to wait, it seemed only right. Pypar lingered several hours, holding the child and asking questions about Audra. He knew of a small home in the next village that could be rented - he had nearly sent Evlyn there earlier. He gave Daxon coin and instruction to relocate, to make them safe and comfortable.

He finally left, to return home to his wife.

Daxon bought horses, and moved them all quickly to a furnished house. He hired the former servants at a generous wage to ensure they minded their own business and kept their silence.

They let Pypar know they safely arrived. A small package came by post every week thereafter, with the same note. _'There is no change. Please stay.'_ Each package contained a different item for Audra - a silver rattle, an ivory teething ring, a hooded swaddling of lambskin, a tiny blue velvet smock.

Bibia was frequently about town and brought back news. Pypar Marbrand and his family were in King's Landing. Evlyn imagined Lady Domnella in the capitol. How at ease a woman like that would be in the company of royalty, where she belonged.

When a raven came, asking that Evlyn allow Pypar to come once more to see his daughter, only this time with his wife, how could she say no? She ruined his honor and threatened his marriage, and took his gold to put a roof over her head when she belonged in a ditch. She said yes.

When Pypar and Domnella were less than a day away, he sent a rider to meet Daxon. Evlyn was not to be under the same roof as his wife.

Daxon balked. He had never liked this idea in the first place and now the rules had changed. Daxon did not trust Domnella, and thought this was her idea. He knew the difference between an attempted kidnapping and an attempted murder, and he never believe the Blackfyre's would avenge their fallen brothers by the death of a woman and child. They had a code, even in madness, those Targaryen's. No, that had been a woman's doing. Daxon refused on Evlyn's behalf and rode swiftly back to the house to tell Evlyn. He thought they should pack their bags and leave in the night. Forget about Pypar Marbrand's promised gold, they had enough coin to get to Pentos if they managed it carefully.

Evlyn was tormented. She knew Daxon's opinion, but Pypar knew his own wife and swore Domnella was above hurting an innocent, and no one was more innocent than Audra. Evlyn did not want to refuse Pypar Marbrand anything after all that she had done to him. Pypar would not let his wife do harm to the child, she told herself. But to leave the baby alone with someone who had the power to take her child away...

Daxon cursed women's indecision and started packing with Bibia when there was a knock on the door.

Pypar had ridden through the night, alone, to beg Evlyn for this chance. He asked her to let Domnella see Audra and feel what he did when he looked at the child. He swore she would not harm the baby, nor would she take her away from her mother. Daxon would be there, if it put her at ease, but he would protect Audra with his own life.

Evlyn said 'yes'.

And here she was today, trembling with fear, in the Sept confessional.

The Septa knocked on the door. "Bibia is here for you."

Evlyn ran out.

"The Lady is gone." Bibia told her, "The Lord remains with Audra."

Evlyn did not stop to take her cloak, but ran the distance back to the house through freezing rain. She found her baby safe and sound in the parlor, awake and cooing in her father's arms.

"Domnella did not touch her. Doesn't want to harm her...doesn't want anything to do with her...or with me."

"I am so sorry." Evlyn knew she had killed the marriage, as much as if she had killed Domnella. Pypar Marbrand was mourning for his wife the way Evlyn had mourned for her husband one year ago. She did not know what could be said or done to make up for this.

"We will leave. Maybe...maybe that and time will help."

"No. I asked you to wait, and now winter's harshest storms have come early, and the seas will be treacherous. You must stay until spring."

"That could be years." she reminded him gently.

"I know. May I stay the night here?"

"Of course." and she ordered the best room prepared.

The normal servants' quarters were packed to the rafters with winter supplies and the other bedrooms were occupied. The cook and her husband shared the second bedroom. Bibia and Daxon shared the third bedroom, much to Evlyn's dismay but she dared not judge. The stableman slept in the kitchen by the back door. Evlyn and Audra slept in the sitting room off the master bedroom.

Evlyn slept on a padded bench which held all of her personal belongings, while Audra's cradle fit perfectly in the little room once Daxon moved it back. The sitting room was windowed the full length, which Evlyn liked. Children born in winter could be short and stunted from lack of sun, and mother's milk was not as rich. Evlyn wanted as much light on them both as possible, even if this was the coldest room in the house, normally closed up for winter. She did not know why the master suite was empty, except that maybe she felt unworthy of it. Pypar Marbrand paid for it, let him stay there now.

They ate dinner silently, until Evlyn asked Daxon to pass the bread in Valeryan. They had been practicing the language for life in Pentos, but neither was fluent. Pypar gently corrected them and coached them in the basics of table manners and dinner conversation. It helped ease the tension.

The entire household went to bed early. It was freezing outside. Evlyn knew that all Pypar would be thinking about was his wife, and if she was warm at whatever inn she was staying...staying without him.

Audra woke in the night, crying to be fed. The noise woke Pypar, and with his soldier's instincts, he rushed to the sitting room. Evlyn apologized, startled by his presence. She should have slept in the parlor so as not to disturb him.

"This room is much too cold. Bring her into the bedroom to feed her." Pypar insisted, returning to the room to put more wood on the fire.

Evlyn dutifully followed, sitting in the velvet-draped armchair and covering herself and the baby with a shawl.

"Is that...is that her making such noises?" Pypar asked. Audra's grunting was louder than the crackling fire he was tending.

Evlyn blushed. "She is not as frail as she looks. She eats like a bear cub and demands to stay attached to my breast the entire winter, as well."

Pypar laughed, a sound she had not heard from him in over a year and did not expect to ever hear again in her presence.

"You always were witty." Pypar said. "Ancil admitted to me that his best jokes were stolen from you."

Evlyn smiled gratefully. She had not talked about Ancil with anyone who knew him since she fled her in-laws in disgrace. She wondered how they fared.

Pypar seemed to guess her thoughts. "The Tarlys are well. All of Ser Haryld's sons are home for the winter. Braedyn's wife had their second child, another son. Francil has tried enough of the world that he is content to commit himself to the Faith. Joryn is to be married in three months and Young Haryld was named Lord Tyrell's First Knight."

"That is good news, all around." Evlyn nodded. They had been her brothers. It cheered her to know they would survive what she had done to them.

"I know this because Francil spoke with me at length at King's Landing. He wanted me to tell you that he misses you, and forgives you, and still loves you like the sister you always were to him."

Evlyn felt her eyes well with tears.

"I am sorry I upset you."

"No, no. It was good to hear. I just miss so much of my life, not just Ancil."

"Francil and I talked. He will make a good Septon, his heart is pure and his mind is open. He wanted to share a conversation he had with an elder Septa. He had gone to her for help in understanding what you and I had done... two people that he loved and respected, who behaved so out of character. She told Francil that she had been a Septa for a long time and seen so much death and comforted countless men and women. She had seen this happen often, more often than you could imagine, and from the most honorable and moral of people. She believed that when death comes to a loved one, the Stranger comes, and he calls to you as well, offering you a choice. The Mother rises to defend your life, because in this one thing, the Seven are not in harmony. Sometimes the Mother is defeated, and a person dies from their grief. Sometimes she fights the Stranger but Mother is not strong or cunning like Smith or Warrior. Mother knows if she is wounded in this battle, the life left will be hollow. So sometimes Mother seduces the Stranger. She dances with him, and uses your body, tricking you into feeling alive, in celebrating the act that makes life. We have no control over our bodies, because Mother borrowed them."

"That is how I felt.," Evlyn confessed, "I was not in control. I had wanted desperately to die but in those few hours, all I thought about and all I felt was living and breathing."

"I felt better after talking to Francil. I wish you could see him - he is not opposed to seeing you, he told me so. I did not think to arrange anything because I thought you would soon be on your way to Pentos."

"Not so soon."

"No. I will send a message to him, and tell him where you are."

"I would like that. Thank you."

Audra had finished her dinner but gave an indignant squeak when separated from her mother for her patting.

"I shall sew ears on her hood in the morning, for my little bear cub." Evlyn smiled at her precious child.

"That will be quite the fashion statement."

Pypar begged that she sleep in the warm bedroom with Audra, and she complied.

Pypar joined them, too tall for the sitting room bench. They did not want to wake the servants to make up another bed somewhere. He slept chastely on the other side of the baby, slumbering in her blue wool swaddling clothes and fur hood. There was nothing intimate about it, just friendship coming back, and mutual comfort.

Pypar lingered in the morning. He had breakfast and talked with Daxon about what to do next. Daxon wanted to relocate, since Domnella knew where they were. Pypar disagreed. They would stay, but he agreed to make plans in case they had to leave quickly.

An ice storm started, and Pypar had no choice but to stay the day and another night. He and Evlyn talked, on all manner of subjects, back and forth between common tongue and Valeryan. He watched her nurse Audra uncovered, and she was not ashamed. They slept in the same bed with the baby. They would be friends again, she knew. She needed a friend. Maybe he did too.


	30. Heaven

Autumn fields, bright light. Little Aelinor raced past them on her borrowed mare, Grace. She'd stayed nine, her favorite age, perfect for playing with aunts Melody and Harmony, big enough to ride an elegant horse as wild and spirited as she was. Sometimes when Piety called her, she would come and be an infant again, to let her mother hold her baby like she never could in the world.

Lanna Grace was six always. She had no interest in growing any older. Ponies suited her just fine, and dolls and pretty dresses. Papa could carry her easily on his broad shoulders, like he did now.

Pup turned to Piety. "How long have I been here?"

"I don't know. Why, are you bored?" she teased him.

"No, I just thought..."

"I miss our son, too, but he has a life to live, and choices to make."

_'What age would Sandor chose to be?'_ Pup wondered, _'Certainly not a child.'_ Sometimes he was afraid Piety would not recognize her son when his time came. Grown. Scarred. Bitter.

He told Piety what happened after she died, and told her everything he never told her when she was alive. He confessed to her, a lifetime of sin, more than she could have imagined, and she forgave him. It put him a bit at peace, as much as possible, for the things he had done or had allowed to be done.

_'Will Sandor be scarred here?' he asked his grandmother Aelinor. She would know._

_She shrugged. 'If the wounds are soul deep, then yes, he will be scarred here.'_

Vaario ran up to him, Pup's baby brother. Nine was his favorite age once Little Aelinor joined him in heaven. Those two ran through the fields, screaming with laughter. They swam in the river and tried to catch the biggest, brightest fish together. Both children were dark and slender and fast as lightning.

Pup took Vaario's hand. The boy always knew, came up and comforted him every time he missed Sandor. Sometimes Vaario came up to Pup when he missed Baelor, missed their father as much as Pup did.

"Grandmother says I shall be able to fetch Papa soon, Pypar."

A brave boy, Vaario. He was the only one that could find Baelor and come back safely with him. Aelinor planned it, Audra agreed to it, and the little boy wanted to do it, to roam the world for a bit as a spirit. That's where Baelor was. A lost spirit. He had not been condemned to Hell, for Piety forgave him, just as she forgave everyone else that she loved even a little bit.

It was here that the women played the dark part of the trick. It grieved them terribly to do it, for they all loved Baelor. But Baelor had to be kept away, kept away a little longer. Certain things could never be allowed in this place, and Baelor would be tempted to make a terrible mistake. He might repeat the mistakes in heaven that he made in the world.

When Baelor died and approached Heaven's gate, only one who loved him greeted him - Piety. Before he could say a word she asked, 'What did you do with my unborn child?'

Baelor turned away from Heaven in his shame. He did not ask for forgiveness, not of the Mother, and not of Piety. He set out without direction, looking for what was hidden from him.

But he would be sent for soon, Pup assured himself. Baelor was loved, forgiven, and would come back to them whole and strong. He would be with Audra and all three of his sons again.

As quickly as thought happened, it was dark. Pup was lying alone with Piety, on her bearskin blanket, comfortable by a warm fire.

"Tell me again." he asked her.

Piety nestled against him "I was coming back. I felt our baby move inside me, remembered that I was a mother and I loved Truth. Loved him more than I hated anyone. I had to protect Truth... and I remembered that I loved you, and I had to protect you, too. I was coming back for you. Now tell me again."

"I was waiting for you."

He fell asleep with Piety in his arms.

He woke up in a tent. Bolt nudged him awake. Bolt was nine and he was seven, the age their mother Audra liked them best. Vaario was nine. "You're cheating!" Pup said to Vaario, baby brother making himself older like that! But Vaario needed to be that age, they were with Grandfather Pypar now, at a tournament. The three boys were chasing after him, acting as his squires as he jousted all day, never tiring. Audra, and their grandmother Evlyn, watched them all from the box. Audra was so beautiful. Her hands and feet were healed. She danced to endless music.

Grandfather Pypar picked them up and put them on his courser in turn, and let them take a pass.

Pup's horse raced on, the armor seemed to peel away, and he was in a sea of grass, on a Dothraki horse. His grandmother Aelinor was beside him, but grandmother had never seen the grasslands herself, had been born a slave in Astapor.

She was beautiful young woman, followed by a young man on a horse, her first-born son. They were half naked and painted blue.

"I did not know this until I died." she reminded Pup, "My mother's mother, born free, showed me how we were meant to live. I have places to go that you may not follow, my little warrior."

Pup understood, his portion of heaven was limited, not that he minded. It had more than he needed.

He turned his horse around and began walking back through the sea of grass. The horse would know the way.

He saw Bolt in the distance. His brother looked about nineteen, dressed in shining armor, battling a dragon of light and smoke, rescuing a fair maiden. Bolt and his own fair Glynnia, living out stories from fairy tales.

The sea of grass turned mountainous, and he was on his own lands, enjoying the peaceful rugged beauty of the place. He was free of worries. He was grown again, strong, a man with a wife and family. He could see the tower of Clegane Keep in the distance. He headed home - Piety and Little Aelinor and Lanna Grace would be waiting. He thought he could hear the harp song already.


End file.
